By Design
by Sorsha711
Summary: A serial killer is stalking the streets of Vegas… hell of a time for Brass to meet the woman of his dreams. Brass-centric with a little GSR.
1. Chapter 1

Title: By Design, Chapter 1

Author: Sorsha711  
Fandom/Pairing: CSI; Brass/OCF  
Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations  
Disclaimer: A quick check of my bank account should prove I'm not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh! Anything you recognize belongs to the good people that bring us CSI.  
Summary: A serial killer is stalking the streets of Vegas… hell of a time for Brass to meet the woman of his dreams.

By Design, Chapter 1 -- First Impressions

--

Brass paused near the security gate for the construction site and looked up. He noted that the sprawling complex of buildings seemed to have rocketed out of the ground since the last time he had stopped to gauge its progress. Cranes and scaffolding obscured how much work had been done when viewed from his car, but he was close enough now to see the details emerging from the former site of several blocks of deteriorating older buildings.

_Celebration Centre_ was being hyped as the 'new downtown for Las Vegas', one to rival anything happening on the Strip. The Mayor had repeatedly trumpeted the project as another major step forward in the revitalization of the City… a comment that might confuse the average tourist that didn't know most of the Strip was outside of the actual city limits of Las Vegas. (_Celebration Centre_ is a fictional development under construction in my head and nowhere else, LOL.)

/Mob built the Strip out of the desert… didn't want to have the City interfering in their operations/ Jim mused. /They had the County in their pockets… along with the State Legislature… must have, to get them to pass a state law prohibiting the City from ever annexing south of the Sahara. Ah, the bad old days!/

Movement to his right made him turn to see who was coming his way. A barely stifled wolf whistle accompanied a sudden flare of interest in his deep blue eyes. He knew the lady he was admiring had seen his reaction from the faint blush that accompanied a determined attempt to 'stare him down'. He saw her gaze flicker to his badge briefly before settling on his face.

"Can I help you, Captain?"

Smiling in hopes of improving the first impression he had made with his near leer, Brass offered, "Maybe. I'm trying to track down someone that works here, but the guard isn't around to open the gate. I'm Jim Brass, by the way."

"Casey Edgers," she replied, accepting the hand he extended in her direction. "George must be on rounds. I'm lead architect for the project, so I know some of the guys working the site. If you have a name…"

"Sure… Tony Osteen," Jim supplied. "I was told he generally comes to the site early to meet with the night shift foreman before he leaves for the day."

Sky blue eyes widened fractionally hearing the name of the project superintendent. "Yes, Tony usually comes in around 6 most mornings. I'm supposed to meet him to get a walk-thru of site at 6:30, so he should be in his office."

"This is the only way into the site?"

Nodding, Casey explained, "At night, the site is locked down and this is the only way in. Unless Tony or the shift foreman approves it, the other gates are locked from 7:30 p.m. to 6:45 a.m. They won't open for another half-hour when first shift starts arriving."

"So… George, I believe you said, is the night watchman?" Jim prompted. "Is he the only one?"

"No… there are a couple of other guards patrolling the perimeter… they work for the general contractor, Greenley Construction, so I don't know all of their names," she reported. "I know George because he's usually here at the main gate if I get here early. I'm a little surprised he's not around. Have you tried the call box yet?"

"Not yet… I just got here a few seconds ahead of you," he replied, walking over to the intercom beside the gate. Pushing the button, he looked back at her as he waited for a response. "So… this is your baby?"

A small smile accompanied a nod. "In a manner of speaking, I guess it is. Projects like this take a lot of people to pull them off. I'm lead architect, but I can't claim sole paternity… or maternity of this bouncing bundle of headaches."

Chuckling at her quip, he started to respond when a voice from the call box asked, "Yeah, what ya want?"

"I want to see Tony Osteen," Brass replied. "Has he arrived yet?"

"'Bout an hour ago," came the gruff reply. "He expecting you?"

Grinning slightly at the snort of laughter from the uniformed cop hovering nearby, Brass admitted, "Probably not. I'm Capt. Brass, LVPD."

A long pause preceded, "LVPD?"

"Yeah… now, are you going to open the gate or do I need to get a warrant… bring back a dozen or so officers to help me search the grounds?" Jim asked, feeling a little irritated that the interview was proving so difficult to complete. "If I have to go that route, I promise we'll get in the way… cause delays. Can't be helped if we're doing a search."

Knowing her clients would not be happy with an unnecessary interruption to the work at the massive site, the architect stepped forward, "George… its Casey Edgars. I have a 6:30 with Tony. Open up so the Captain can do what he needs to do. We don't have time for avoidable delays."

"Is he arresting Mr. Osteen?"

An eyebrow rose on the faces of his listeners. "Do you know a reason I should?"

The reply was tellingly quick. "Naw… course not."

Watching Brass out of the corner of her eye, a fact that betrayed she had picked up on the same vibe as he had, Casey asked, "You just need to talk to him right?"

"Right," Jim asserted, "I need to find out if he can help me with a possible lead in a case I'm working. Far as I know, neither the developer or their agents are in any way involved in the investigation. Only reason I'm here is he works this site… so open the gate like the lady said."

"I don't know," the disembodied voice hedged. "I'm not allowed to let anyone inside the gate without approval from Mr. Osteen or Mr. Bridges."

Glaring at the box, Casey pulled out her cell phone and keyed the number for Osteen. Getting no answer… her call went directly to voice mail, she frowned as she dialed the third shift foreman, Phil Bridges. "Phil… Casey. I'm stuck outside the front gate… George is being George again. This is getting old fast."

"Thanks, but it's not just me," she clarified to the man on the other end of the phone. "There are two policemen out here wanting to talk to Tony but his phone is going to voice mail. Can you tell George to let us in? I'm supposed to meet Tony at 6:30 for a walk-thru and delaying them is only going to push us later finishing up here. I'm so not a morning person, so let me in so I can get to the coffee."

"No idea," she replied. "Capt. Brass says he needs to talk to him about a case he's investigating… that it has nothing to do with Harvin Development or either of our employers. He says he'll be back with a search warrant if we make it tough on him… and we both know we don't need the delay that will cause."

"It's your call. Tony expecting me at 6:30, so tell George to let me in, OK?"

Pocketing her phone, the tall brunette shook her head in frustration. "He's letting me in, but he says he has to talk to Tony about you two… liability and all that crap. Sorry. I tried. Hopefully, he'll find Tony quickly. If not, I will."

"Thanks," Brass offered, wishing he had some reason to delay her further. /Tall, busty babes like her are sooo easy on the eyes… totally out of my league, but a man can look!/

"Are you on schedule with the project?'

A small smile let him know she realized he was chatting her up, but to his amazement she pulled a business card out of her carryall. "More or less. Give me a call this weekend and I'll take you on a tour. We need to keep Las Vegas' finest up to date. Can't have you out of the loop."

Ignoring the all too interested uni he had brought along as backup, Jim smiled warmly as he accepted the card. "I'll do that. This project has been the talk of Vegas for the last few years. Be interested to learn more from the lady behind the plans."

The smile acquired a serious edge as she registered the condescending attitude of younger cop. She had seen Brass' rather obvious interest… she had worked in a man's world too long not to recognize the reaction. She had also seen the hint of insecurity masked behind his outward confidence… the source of her irritation at the dismissive smirk on his subordinate's 'pretty boy' face.

His smug attitude that the older man was wasting his time made her angry. Once he had made an effort to make up for his leer, she had found him rather charming… attractive. The air of command and authority he exuded was softened by hints of gentleness and warmth… a wry sense of humor. The mix was intriguing to say the least.

Turning to enter the gate, she glanced back at him as she slipped through the opening.

Casey made note of the fact their eyes met. Most men would have been staring at her behind… the younger cop clearly was, but Brass wasn't being that obvious. That alone convinced her he might be someone she would enjoy getting to know.

She had been in Vegas just under a year… a year of all work and no play. Frankly, that was mostly by choice, a choice that was getting old fast. She hadn't met anyone that captured her interest… until now.

A quick wink accompanied a soft, "Call me," and she was gone.

--

"Did that card do something to offend you?"

Startled, Brass looked up to find Sofia Curtis lounging in the doorway of his office. "What…?"

Grinning, the younger detective observed, "You're glaring at that card like it drank the last of your favorite scotch. Having trouble tracking down a lead?"

Sighing, Brass motioned for her to take the seat across from him. "The Ortiz case has gone cold already. I wasted a couple of hours on her lover yesterday… he had a solid alibi. He and his whole family were in Florida at Disney World when she was killed. He voluntarily gave up his DNA… not a match for the semen found on the vic. Starting to look like a random attack."

Frowning, Sofia offered, "That was part of the reason I came in early to see you. I caught a case a couple of months ago that may be tied to yours. MO sounds a lot like your doer… woman snatched from a parking lot, brutally raped… body dumped on the side of an isolated back road. Vic's name was Angie Simmons."

Perking up at this prospect of a new lead, Brass slid the file for the Ortiz case across the desk in her direction. "I'm assuming that's your case file…"

Nodding, she handed him the file she had brought with her and settled back to study the one he had given her. After several minutes, she observed, "So, Gil thinks the semen was an accidental transfer… bastard got sloppy pulling off a condom."

"That's about the size of it… no pun intended," Jim agreed, smiling in response to her chuckle. "If this is the same guy, level of violence is escalating fast. Tina Ortiz was beaten and strangled… part of the strangulation appears to have been while he was on top of her, so he was getting off on her pain. No sign she was ever into sexual asphyxia, so that, coupled with the DNA results, rules out the lover. He was apparently the only man she was seeing… her personal life isn't giving me much. She wasn't a party girl… can't find any jealous ex's."

"I had the same problem with Angie," Curtis reported. "She was in a long-term relationship with another woman, so men weren't her thing. She worked at an insurance company… pretty average life. The only men in her life were family and a few close friends… co-workers. Looked at them all and they were all dead-ends."

"Sounds familiar. So… you're wondering if we have a serial killer?" Brass concluded. "I agree there are some similarities about the MO. Let's have the crime lab compare trace from both and see if we have anything physical to support the theory. I see two or three items that need to be compared off the top of my head… lab reports reads a lot like the ones from my scene. If we have two, there may be other cases tied to him… assaults, peeping toms complaints…"

Nodding, she agreed. "I had the same idea. Let's talk to Grissom. Frankly, he and his crew are more likely to see a connection than the day shift. I don't mean to knock them, but we both know night's has a better team. Day's has too may newbies to have any rhythm."

Grinning in agreement, Brass rose to follow her out the door, pausing long enough to slide the business card Casey Edgars had given him securely into his wallet. Sofia noted his actions, but waited until they were in a deserted section of hallway to ask, "So… who is she?"

"She who?" Jim dodged.

Smirking at his unintended confirmation that the card wasn't work related, she teased, "Let me guess… the hottie that gave you her card at the construction site yesterday?"

Groaning, Jim risked a quick look in her direction. The genuine smile on her face caused him to relax a little as he asked, "You heard…?"

"… that you made the mistake of taking Don Friedman with you yesterday," she joked. "Biggest gossip on the entire force… not to mention a total jerk. I think he was miffed she didn't throw herself at his feet and beg him to take her right there. He thinks he God's gift."

"Let me guess… she gave me her card because she felt sorry for the old guy, right? If I hadn't gotten in the way, he would have already scored," Brass speculated, the snatches of aborted conversations he had overheard now making sense. "His opinion was crystal clear."

Studying the tense set of his features, Sofia observed, "He's way too pretty in my opinion… never liked pretty men… and he's in love with his own image. Some women actually want more in the men they date."

"Hummph…"

"So… have you called yet?"

"If this is your other reason for coming by…"

"It is," she confirmed. "Well… have you?"

Blowing out a frustrated breath, Jim admitted, "Why bother? Gorgeous, funny, smart, and successful… not the type of woman that settles for an over-the-hill cop that's loosing his hair and going a little soft around the middle. I've heard enough of the assessment of my chances that are circulating with the card story, so… no, I haven't called. No point in setting myself up for another rejection."

Sighing, Sofia complained, "Why do you always sell yourself short like that? Plenty of women would be interested if you gave them a chance. You've closed yourself off, settling for easy when it's offered, but never try for more. Frankly, you **so** need more."

Irritated, he bit out, "Really? When did you become an expert on my love life?"

"What love life? Don't forget I partnered with you for two years… your pattern is pretty predictable," she retorted. "Hell, you ignore or reject any woman that shows signs of being attracted to you… you never give them a chance. Honestly, I can't decide if you're clueless or hiding, but the opportunities are there if you'd poke your head out of your office once in a while and do something other than work. Hell, you're worse than Grissom. At least he's holding out that he and Sara can work things out. You have no excuse!"

"Yeah… legions of women just waiting to snap up a catch like me," he growled. "Stay out of my business…"

"What about Alice in the Sheriff's office… or Candy over in the Clerk's office?" Sofia listed. "Then there's your neighbor… the one that's always baking you stuff. I can go on if you want. Hell, there's me. I was pretty clear I was hoping you might pursue something once I transferred to days, but you cut me off cold."

Coming to an abrupt halt, Jim stared at her for several tense seconds before he admitted, "News to me. I don't recall…"

"Invitations to dinner… drinks after work or on your days off," she reminded him. "Any of that sound familiar?"

Stunned, Jim stared at her, not a little disappointed he had missed the signs. Both knew she was now involved in a serious relationship with a man she had met a few months back. Obviously, his chance had passed by without his ever noticing it for what it was. "I… I guess it never occurred to me you might… I mean… I'm older and… I kind of figured I'd become your rabbi. Damn… why didn't you just knock me over the head?" (A/N -- Rabbi is police slang for a mentor or guardian angel.)

"Thought about it," she admitted, catching his arm to pull him into an empty interrogation room. She could hear someone coming down the hall in their direction and she refused to end the conversation until she had had her say. The last thing Jim needed, however, was a witness overhearing their talk. In this building, the walls really did have ears.

Releasing her grip, she leaned into the side of the table. "I finally gave up… decided you weren't interested and… women don't like to be rejected either, Jim. In retrospect, I should have realized you were being a clueless man. Catherine told me to jump you one night, but… I went with safe and I guess… I'll always wonder what might have happened. I'm happy with Denny, but… you know what I mean."

Sighing, he nodded. "Yeah… I was sitting there all ripe to be jumped, but… you're a lot younger… beautiful and smart. I just assumed…"

"That's the problem, Jim," Sofia interjected. "You assume a lady isn't interested and never take risks anymore. Be honest… when was the last time you went on an honest to God date? And I don't mean waking up next to someone you hooked up with at a bar when neither of you was sober enough to be looking for more than one night."

Slumping back against the wall, he admitted, "Been a long time since I done that either… as for a date… I have no idea."

Fixing him with a determined stare, she asked, "Did she hesitate when you asked her for her card?"

"Actually… she gave me the card without my asking," he confessed, silently groaning at the predatory gleam that piece of information brought to her eyes. "I was trying to keep her talking… pretty obvious I was looking for an opening and… she just handed me the card and told me to call… that she'd take me on a personal tour of the site this weekend. Then… she walked away… well, she did turn around…"

"And?"

"Told me to call… gave me a wink," he muttered, knowing he was about to be raked over the coals for being a 'clueless man' once again.

A sudden gust of laughter made him straighten quickly, his pride stung by her obvious amusement. Before he could say anything, Sofia reached over to lay a soothing hand on his arm. "I wasn't laughing at you, Jim; I was laughing at Friedman. No wonder he was pissed and felt the need to dis you. A babe by both your estimations not only totally ignored him, she offered you her card and INVITED you to call. Poor little Donnie must have been crushed!"

A mischievous grin warmed his face as the logic of her conclusions sank in. "Maybe… but you sure have a hate-hate thing going for Friedman. Maybe there's more to it… some secret burning passion… a torrid affair gone wrong…?"

Rolling her eyes, Sofia scoffed, "As if. Friedman and I were at the Academy together and he's been a jerk in my book from day one. Bastard told more than a few people I made detective on my back… you and/or McKeen were the tops in case you were wondering. I got some blowback on that after you took McKeen down on Warwick's murder."

"What?"

"Apparently Donnie-boy didn't miss the fact I was hot for you even if you did!" she observed. Sensing he was about to go off on a tangent… angry on her behalf over Friedman's comments, she added, "He's just sore he's failed the sergeant's exam three times and is still working patrol."

"Three times? I'd heard he'd flamed out twice, but… damn, how can you blow it a third time?" Brass demanded.

"Aced the detective's exam the first time, right?"

"Same as you," he responded, grinning wickedly. "I guess its true the cream does rise to the top! What does that make Friedman… besides an idiot?"

"Sour milk I guess… do I look like a milkmaid?" Moving toward the door, she urged, "Call her. Don't make me drag you into another interrogation room for second pep talk/lecture. You might get a little bruised up if that happens."

Chuckling, he retorted, "Right… can't risk you loosing control and jumping me. Denny would pound me into the ground!"

His grin widened as he heard her sputter, "That's not what I meant!" as he moved toward the door so they could return to work.

--

A/N: Good start or not? This story is set after they have solved Warwick's murder. I'll allude to the details of how they did that in later chapters, but that won't be the focus of this story. Oh, and there will be a little Gil/Sara in amongst the Brass-love Grin! Feedback welcome!

8-2-08


	2. Chapter 2 The Plan

Explosive, Chapter 2

Title: By Design, Chapter 2

Author: Sorsha711  
Fandom/Pairing: CSI; Brass/OCF  
Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations  
Disclaimer: A quick check of my bank account should prove I'm not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh! Anything you recognize belongs to the good people that bring us CSI.  
Summary: A serial killer is stalking the streets of Vegas… hell of a time for Brass to meet the woman of his dreams.

By Design, Chapter 2 -- The Plan

--

"So… all of this will be a park area," Jim repeated, impressed with the level of detail that had gone into developing the plans for the redevelopment of an older section of the central city. "Will there be a lot of grass and trees?"

Tilting her head slightly as she watched him inspect the progress of the development, Casey replied, "Yes, but we're using mostly grasses native to the region. There will be trees… desert varieties and similar drought tolerant species. I worked with the landscape architects to integrate those plans into the overall master plan for the project, but I can't pretend to be an expert on the plant materials. You probably know more about them than I do since you've lived here longer than I have… or I'm assuming you have."

"Over fifteen years now… Jersey before that," he confessed. "How long have you called Vegas home?

"I was in and out of town for several years while we worked on the plans," she replied, "but I didn't move here until last year."

"Where was home before the move?"

"I lived in Miami for ten years before the move… got tired of living out of suitcases," Casey offered. "It took a little arm-twisting, but I finally convinced my firm to open a local office. Between getting the doors open… keeping this and several other projects on tract, learning the local flora and fauna hasn't been on the radar."

"So… you're in charge of the local office?" Jim asked.

"Yeah, all seven of us," she quipped. "We have a handful of other staffers working on _Celebration_, but they are on loan from other offices. Until I grow our client base locally, I have a basic design team of architects, LA's, and site planners… a design tech, but that's it for now. A couple of interior designers will transfer here later this summer as the project gets further alone. The residential units alone should keep them busy and make sure we capture at least a portion of the market."

"LA's?"

"Sorry," she grinned. "Landscape architect."

"How's it going… the start-up, I mean?" he asked, offering his hand as they made their way through a rocky bit of open ground.

"Not bad… building activity has slowed all over the country, but we've managed to pick up a couple of new large clients and a number of other smaller ones… mostly custom homes, so… for now at least, the office is holding its own," she reported, pleased by his courtly gesture. "We plan to move our offices over here as soon as it's ready to occupy. We'll be on the third floor of one of the mixed use hi-rises, so my office should have a great view of the central plaza. Hopefully, I'll feel inspired."

"Any other projects in the works I might have heard about?" Jim captivated by the animated glow lighting her features as she described the project.

Moving closer to his side, she slipped her hand into the curve of his arm. "We were selected for the new residential hi-rise on Flamingo last month… that's gotten a lot of press and we're doing the new gaming complex near Green Valley… a neighborhood casino as they're known locally. We're starting to develop a solid base of custom home work to fill in the gaps and keep us busy, so I'm pretty relieved all things considered."

"Well, I'm impressed. Sounds like a good start."

"The senior partners are pleased and that's as good as it gets," she joked, giving him a flirtatious grin. "We're supposed to be the design firm for _The Eclipse_, the new casino complex Sam Braun planned, but… that's all tied up in litigation since his death. Who knows if or when it will get started. Our work is on hold for now."

"Yeah, Sam left a real mess on a lot of fronts when he was killed," Brass agreed. "If his son Tony was still alive, he might have been able to step in and keep it on track, but Walt lacks the skills… even if he wasn't serving a life stretch for killing his brother. Catherine's chosen to stay out of the fight, so… it's all in limbo for now."

Confused, she looked his way. "That's a name I've not heard. Who's Catherine?"

"Friend of mine… Sam was her father," Brass clarified. "She's a criminalist in our forensics lab… works graveyard same as me. Tony was the only one of his kids Sam groomed to follow in his foot steps. He didn't acknowledge Catherine until a few years before his death. She and her mom were pretty much on their own even she was a child."

Intrigued, she pressed, "What was he like? I met him a few times, but it's hard sometimes to get a real sense of someone in a business setting."

"So, no impressions?"

"A few," she admitted, "most of them pretty much surface reactions. He was always trying to charm the room, but he gave off a dangerous vibe… or maybe I was reacting to his reputation more than the actual man. I could tell he still thought of himself a player with the ladies."

"He hit on you?" Jim demanded, irritated at the thought.

"No… he was just a little… smarmy, I guess," she replied with a shrug of her shoulders. "One of the founding partners at my firm designed the _Rampart_, so the project is his… my staff and I are just local support. Larry is all about keeping things professional and Sam seemed to respect that, so he left me alone… was cordial but all-business."

"Well… my dealings with him weren't of the cordial variety. Sam was a real bastard in my book… a lot of peoples' books. I guess he had to be to make it to the top of the heap in Vegas in the bad old days… or now, for that matter," Jim mused. "I had the pleasure of arresting him a time or two, but he always managed to skate. He was wired to power and rich… slippery as they come."

"But… you're a homicide detective," she exclaimed. "You had him on murder?"

A look of pure frustration passed over his face as Jim admitted, "We had him cold, but… like I said, he was as slippery as they come. Catherine and her mom… her daughter, Lindsey, were about the only genuine mourners he had by the time he was killed. He had screwed over too many people in his day… enemies and sycophants he had by the truckload, but… at the end of the day, his empire was all that mattered to him. He was one of the few people that make me look like father of the year."

Hearing the pain and self-recrimination in his voice, Casey hesitated before asking, "How many kids do you have?"

Sighing, Jim kept his answer short. "One… a daughter."

Seeing her confusion, he whispered, "Long, sad story we can rehash another day, OK?"

Tightening her hold on his arm even though they were once again walking on a stable plyboard sidewalk, she whispered, "OK… another time."

Relieved, he changed the topic back to the project they were exploring… though their attention to the project had drifted as much as the conversation. He hoped she meant it about another time. His plans for the day included looking for an opening to ask her for another date, /assuming she thinks this is a date to begin with/. "So tell me more about this park. Will it look like a desert preserve or what?"

"To some extent, but this is Vegas, so it'll have its glitz and glam," she responded, squeezing his arm again to underscore the fact that she understood what he was doing. "We're including a number of water features to soften the overall effect and to give the space some much needed relief… dimension… fun. They'll re-circulate the grey water from the buildings, so it also furthers our green design agenda. The project is LEED certified… the first on this scale in Vegas."

Pausing to sweep her hand across the area before them, she continued, "One of the fountains will be in the center of this main plaza area, designed to look like a natural spring bubbling up out of the ground along with a few geysers to liven things up. The stream bed will meander along a series of connected paths, pergolas, and covered walks. The designs reflect a modern take on southwestern motifs with a serious splash of Vegas excess."

"So, we can add geysers to volcanoes and dancing fountains," Jim joked. "Come to Vegas and see it all!"

Grinning, she agreed. "That's the general idea. _The Canyon Falls_ _Casino and Hotel_ complex will have three waterfalls spilling out of various façades… a tall fall at the exterior street entrance, a large, splashing fall on the interior entrance, and a series of smaller falls dumping into swimming pools in the central courtyard. There will be restaurants and bars clustered nearby, as well as, balconies for the high end suites. That allows them to benefit from the cooling effects of the water and the drama the falls will create. I used waterfalls from the Grand Canyon as the design inspiration rather than ones with a more tropical feel."

"I've never made it down to the Grand Canyon," he admitted. "I'll have to take your word for it the falls will look like them."

"You need to make the trip," she urged, gripping his arm to underscore her point. "Make sure you get there in the early morning if possible… or late afternoon. The height of the sun makes a big difference in the way the canyon looks. It will take your breath away at any time, but… when the sun hits the sides at an angle… you just have to go and see it."

"It's on my to-do list," he promised. "I keep saying I'm going to take a long weekend and go… but it's not a lot of fun to make that type of trip on your own."

"In that case, maybe I should just put you in a car and drive you… then, you won't have an excuse," she teased. "And, you have to get down into the canyon to see the falls, so its hike, take a mule, or fly… by helicopter if you're feeling conservative."

"I promise not to struggle if you want to toss me into your car and kidnap me," he retorted, giving her a waggle of his eyebrows. "And I prefer to do my flying in a plane or helicopter… my angel wings are a little wobbly these days."

That made her giggle… then laugh at his confused look. "What?"

Wiping a tear from her eye, she teased, "Sorry… I had a sudden flashback to the movie, _Dogma_."

"OK… that's one I don't know," he retorted, cutting his eyes to enjoy the sight of her face lit by laughter. "And why does that evil grin worry me so much?"

"I have no idea," she teased, "except that that I can't imagine a man making a reference to being an angel if he'd seen it."

"And that means?"

"Hummm… I guess I need to let you watch my copy one night and then we have that discussion," she suggested, giggling at his wary expression.

Deciding this might be his toehold into a second date, he jumped onboard quickly. "Tell me when and where and I'll be there… I'll even bring the popcorn."

"And the tequila."

"Tequila?" he noted, totally mystified by her cryptic comments. /I wonder if I have time to grab a copy and watch it tonight before shift?/

Relenting, she patted his arm and apologized. "I'm sorry. That was childish of me teasing you like that."

"Does that mean I don't get to see the movie?"

Her second hand remained resting on his arm. "I think a special screening can be arranged."

"Time and date is all I need to know," he replied, relieved and encouraged by her playful teasing. Deciding to quit while he was ahead, he steered the conversation back to the project. "Isn't there a second casino complex planned?"

"Yes… _The Peaks_. It will have a pool that uses a scale model of the Hoover Dam. I added a lot of its Art Deco flourishes into the overall design of the complex since that's such a big part of the Hoover Dam's appearance," she supplied, impressed by his easy attitude toward her teasing. Sadly, she had run into a lot of men over the years that couldn't handle her sense of humor and got defensive when she was only playing.

"A massive freshwater aquarium will dominate its lobby," she described, painting pictures in the air, "… species native to the western US for the most part. The other hotels will be high-end boutique style without any gaming areas. The rest of the site is a mix of condos, apartments, offices, and retail… a lot of amusement commercial, like theatres and night clubs… restaurants and a few stand alone casinos. All total, _Celebration_ will have almost as much square footage as the Venetian Macao, although we'll have a lot fewer hotel rooms and more commercial and residential space."

"Wow! That's big… and it sounds like a lot of work to make it all fit together," Jim observed. "Was that all up to you?"

Shaking her head, she admitted, "Programming this type of project is the worst part… deciding what, where, and how much is always a bitch! Then, you're dealing with not only the client, but the marketing and financial teams... the civil, structural, and geo-tech engineers. Toss in the government agencies… I feel like I'm herding cats most of the time… big, toothy cats with claws! Designing is easy in comparison."

"If you say so," he agreed, grinning at her intentionally melodramatic 'silent movie heroine' hand to forehead pose. "This is where you closed and rerouted the street isn't it? I have to tell you that's been a real pain in the ass to get used to."

"Sorry, but it was necessary for the entire site to work as a whole. Only time will tell if we accomplished that… we can plan for years and do market study after market study, but nothing guarantees success. In the end, you build it and… see what happens." Casey sighed. "Pre-sales have been strong despite the overall dip in the Vegas market, so we feel good about our chances."

"Yeah, you build it if you have a few hundred million lying around," Jim quipped. "Building a backyard patio is about my limit."

"Building a patio can sometimes be a bigger pain in the behind that all of this," Casey joked. "I take it you've been doing a little home remodeling."

"Yeah… I have the calluses to prove it. I plan to install one of those swim spas… you know, the one where you can swim against a current, but use it for a Jacuzzi if you want to relax. I have a small backyard, so I think it's a good solution," he offered. "I'm doing as much of the prep work as I can, but I've been working too much in the last few weeks to have time to finish it."

"That sucks."

"Yeah," he agreed. "We've got a couple of cases that have taken up all of my time lately… we're working them hard to keep them from going cold. Today was the first day I've taken off in weeks."

"So… I kept you from working on your patio project?" she asked, pleased he had chose to spend the time with her rather than elsewhere.

Laughing he nodded. "Spend the afternoon with a beautiful lady learning about an exciting project or hours of backbreaking work?? Tough choice."

"Thanks… I think," she quipped. "Spending time with me was better than hard work."

"Hey… you know what I meant!"

Grinning, she squeezed his arm.

"Actually, this is exactly the change of pace I needed… a chance to clear my head, get some fresh air, and talk about something completely removed from my work. I'm enjoying talking to you," he added. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. I'm enjoying the company myself," she replied, her eyes lifting to meet his.

Holding her gaze for a few seconds, he murmured, "Glad to hear it."

Forcing her eyes away from his, she asked, "Speaking of investigations… was Tony able to help you with the case you were working the other day?"

Grinning at her attempt to make her question sound casual rather than avidly curious, he shook his head. "No. Dead end."

"Oh."

Chuckling, he teased, "Were you hoping to find out he was a wanted man?"

"No, of course not," she quickly responded, more than a little horrified by the thought. "I admit I've been wondering what all that was about and I was hoping you'd tell me…"

"I can't discuss an ongoing investigation," Jim interjected, his smile taking the edge off of his refusal to talk further about the reasons for his visit to the job site. "All I can say is he's not a suspect and, as far as I know, hasn't committed any crimes… OK?"

Coming to a halt, she turned her head to meet his gaze. "I'm sorry. You must think I'm a horrible gossip…"

"No, I think you're human," Jim responded. "A homicide detective showing up to talk to your co-worker can be disconcerting."

"Yeah, it can," she agreed. "I like Tony… he's a nice guy. He's always treated me well and I really would have been upset to find out otherwise."

"Then, I'm glad to relieve your mind," he teased, unsure of what to make of the serious way she was studying his features.

"I guess I didn't have enough coffee in my system when we met because it took me most of the day to place where I'd seen you before," she admitted. "You were all over the news a month or so back when you arrested your boss for murder. That must have been horrible."

Sighing, he nodded. "Yeah, it was. McKeen and I had worked together for years… we didn't always have the best relationship, but we got along pretty well most of the time. When I was in the hospital a few years ago, he spent a lot of time coming by to check on me… kept watch with the others. That meant a lot."

"I would imagine."

"He was too political for my tastes most of the time… goes with the job of Undersheriff," Jim mused, "but I never suspected…"

"Why would you?" she asked, when he seemed to be at a loss for what to say next. "You said it yourself it's a shock when a homicide detective investigates a co-worker... since you're in law enforcement would only make that worse."

"Yeah," he agreed, oddly comforted to have his own words turned back on the situation. "It rocked the force having him turn out to be corrupt. He killed a good friend… finding his killer became a mission for those of us that were close to Warwick."

"The newspapers said he almost killed you and another officer… an investigator from the Crime Lab when you were getting close to outing him," she murmured. "I guess going after a bad cop is even more dangerous than most of the rest of what you do."

"Yeah… the station stops being your safe harbor," he admitted. "You start to wonder who you can trust… so you cut yourself off from friends and colleagues that might have helped… you just don't know."

"Have they made it tough for you… going after one of your own people?"

"Some have," he offered, "but most would have done the same… he killed one of our own and we wanted payback."

When she hesitated to say more, he prompted, "And, yeah, there were more than a few that wanted to remind me I'd killed a fellow cop and I didn't pay the price."

"Big difference between a horrible accident during a gun battle and premeditated murder," she observed, confirming she had followed the case closely. "It bothered me how the media tried to make so much of that. You didn't commit murder; he did."

"Doesn't feel like it to me," he confessed, the guilt over Bell's death weighing heavily at his conscience.

"I get that, but it doesn't change the facts of what happened then or this past spring," she whispered. "I'm sorry I brought this up, Jim. You didn't need to rehash…"

"Maybe I do," he inserted. "I've talked to the departmental shrink… SOP in a case like this, but… maybe it just helps admitting how guilty I feel. Bell has three kids growing up without him… his wife is struggling to keep it together on her own. I try to do what I can to help her, but… He's dead because of me… his death is on my head."

"No its not," she insisted, tightening her grip on his arm. "It's on the heads of the dealers that started that gun battle. You were doing your job and so was he. Scary as that is to say, that risk comes with being a cop."

"I screwed-up and he died…"

"You were in the middle of hell and a lot of things went wrong… sort of the nature of hell isn't it?" she countered, stunned by how personal the conversation had suddenly gotten. "Be there to help his family… do your job the best you can… thank God every day you got another chance to make a difference. That's all you or anybody else can do… live and do your best."

"You're saying I shouldn't feel guilty? You have…"

"…no idea what it's like to have been put in that situation and, for that, I'm eternally thankful," she completed, driven by a need to comfort him that she knew defied logic, a need that should be making alarm bells sound. "All I'm saying is don't forfeit your life because of an accident that happened under extreme conditions."

"This is where you tell me it dishonors Bell's memory," he muttered, starting to draw away from her gentle touch on his arm. He felt out of control and… he suddenly wasn't sure he wanted to feel this exposed to anyone.

"I don't have to tell you that… you already know it," she whispered, her grip gentling as her hand began to stroke his arm to help ground him to the moment. "I won't insult your intelligence by stating the obvious."

After a few tense seconds, she felt his body begin to relax. "So… the project is off and running. Sounds like _Celebration_ will give the Strip a run for its money."

Squeezing his arm in silent support, she followed his change in the topic of conversation to something a lot less emotionally taxing. "Yeah, we're hoping the project will be real enough for residents yet exciting and playful enough to keep tourists spending their money."

Pausing to refocus, she explained, "The areas north and south of the central plaza will have a more traditional downtown vibe… a more urban aesthetic than the rest of Vegas. In some respects, Vegas is a mishmash of competing, even clashing architectural styles, so it's not easy to define an authentic Vegas vernacular. We eventually gave up and decided to add our interpretation to the mix. It's based on some of the original themes popular in the iconic images of the City, but pays homage to the generic architecture of the wider southwest."

Regaining his balance now that they were back to a safer topic… the unexpectedly intimate exchange pushed to the back of his mind for the moment, he teased, "I think I get what you're telling me, but… are you still speaking English?"

Smiling, she retorted, "Do I need to give you a copy of the Urban Design Geek-speak to English dictionary? I guess I can write one first if it would help!"

Hopeful that they both seemed to be assuming they would be having future… /is this a date?, Jim plastered a mock-serious expression on his face and nodded. "That might help. I have a question about something you said earlier. What the hell is grey water? That doesn't sound good to me."

"Actually, it's used water from sinks, showers, and the like, not toilets. Once we finish treating it, it's not a health concern," she supplied. "Costs a lot but it's the only way to use water as an amenity on this scale in the desert."

"So… the toilet water goes…"

"Into the regular City sanitary sewer system," she replied. "We won't treat to that level."

"OK… what's a pergola?" he questioned, wanting to keep the tour going for as long as possible. Unconventional as their conversation had been, it was the most satisfying encounter he had had in a very long time. He wasn't ready for it to end any time soon.

"Mental note… write crib sheets for Jim before next date," she murmured, grinning in response to his laugh. She also made note of the pleased twinkle that spring to life in his eyes as she confirmed she saw this as personal, not a professional courtesy. "A pergola is similar to an arbor or a covered walkway… the roof is open, but rafters break up the expanse and help defuse the direct sunlight. It gives points of shade rather than solid cover. Does that help? We have drawings I can show you."

"I think I know what you mean, but a picture is worth a thousand words," he agreed. "I'd love to see those drawings. Did you do them?"

"I did a lot of them… especially the perspectives and elevations," she offered, "but, it was a team effort for the most part. The color renderings were finished by a couple of staff architects and draftsmen. I had to approve all of the final documents… in some ways that's harder than when I had to do them all by myself. Supervising staff is a lot more complicated than just doing it yourself most of the time."

"Don't I know it," Jim agreed. "I'm night shift commander in addition to maintaining my own investigative load. Administration… budgets, paperwork, personnel are my biggest headaches."

"Wow… I'm impressed," she offered, her sincere expression confirming her words. "That must be incredibly demanding."

Sighing, he nodded. "It can be. I go out on calls as much to escape the office as to keep my hand in… I'm a cop not a bureaucrat. Sad isn't it that dealing with a dead body is easier than dealing with our Human Resources department?"

Cutting her eyes to gauge his reaction, Casey joked, "A few of the idiots I've had to deal with at our home office qualify as dead bodies… at least from the neck up. I've been tempted more than once to finish off the rest… a mercy killing."

A gust of laughter proceeded, "Let's try to keep our interactions on a personal not a professional basis, please. I'd hate like hell to have to arrest you… justified or not, murder is still illegal, even in Vegas!"

Sighing dramatically, she agreed. "If I must… but you sure make things hard on a poor working girl."

Grinning, he offered, "Let me make it up to you and buy you dinner. Are you free this evening or do you already have plans?"

Squeezing his arm, she teased, "I have plans… I was planning on your taking me out to dinner. I provided the entertainment, so I figured you'd take care of the meal."

"Seems fair to me," he agreed, relaxing completely as the last of his doubts momentarily subsided. /She called it a date… assumed dinner was a given… has held onto my arm for a while now. I can't believe we talked about… that was way more real than I expected for a first date… but I kind of needed that. It felt good to talk with someone that has a fresh perspective/ he admitted as a mental image of himself pumping his fist as he began his victory dance played out in his thoughts.

/Dear God, don't let me forget I have an audience and actually do that!/

--

Feedback appreciated!  
8/11/2008


	3. Chapter 3 Who's on First?

Title: By Design, Chapter 3

Author: Sorsha711  
Fandom/Pairing: CSI; Brass/OCF  
Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations  
Disclaimer: A quick check of my bank account should prove I'm not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh! Anything you recognize belongs to the good people that bring us CSI.  
Summary: A serial killer is stalking the streets of Vegas… hell of a time for Brass to meet the woman of his dreams.

By Design, Chapter 3 -- Who's on First?

--

Watching as she took a tentative sip of her martini, he grinned as she sighed in obvious pleasure. "I take it they got it right?"

"Ummm… best martini I've had since I moved to Vegas," Casey agreed, settling comfortably into her chair at the small restaurant he had suggested. "A scotch, neat is pretty hard to screw up, but making a really good martini is an art."

Chuckling, he tipped his glass in her direction. "I'll take your word for that. I never developed a taste for gin… too much like drinking lighter fluid."

Choking slightly on her drink, she looked up and demanded, "I'm not sure how to take the admission you've drunk lighter fluid! What was it like?"

"Very funny," he groused, grinning at her devilish smirk. "Actually, gin smells more like turpentine than lighter fluid."

"OK, that one I give you," she conceded. "I could tell you the tale of how I developed the taste… but I don't think I know you well enough for that one!"

It was his turn to sputter. "Do tell… I promise not to blush."

"It's not your blushing that I'm worried about!" she confessed, amused by the smirk warming his face. "That's one of the wilder tales from my not so wild youth… I was pretty much a wuss, so my stories are few and far between."

Noting the twinkle in her eyes as she offered this bit of insight, Jim shook his head. "Not buying it… sorry. Been a detective too long not to recognize a dodge when I hear one."

"OK, OK," she agreed. "Let's save confessionals for another day and stick to safer ground for now. But, be warned… I'll expect quid pro quo… I tell if you tell."

"Why would you think I have anything to tell? Can't you see my halo…" he began.

"Yeah, the one held up by a pair of devil horns," she inserted. "You're so not fooling me either, Jim Brass. I sized you up the moment we met. I plan to keep my eyes on you."

Chuckling, he admitted, "I was afraid I'd blown it before I even had a chance to find out your name."

Studying him for a moment, she offered, "You managed to redeem yourself… especially at the end."

Puzzled, he pressed, "How did I do that?"

"Smart, funny men that risk their lives for the rest of us deserve a few breaks here and there… a few," she observed, secretly amused by the faint flush darkening his features. "Besides, you met my eyes when I looked back at you. That cancelled out the earlier… letchy look."

Grinning, he retorted, "Just because I managed to get my eyes up in time, don't think I didn't look… and admire."

"Honest too," she murmured, holding his gaze as she took another sip of her drink. "Bravo."

A flash of pure energy… a fundamental awareness, surged between them. Neither was exactly sure what had happened, but both knew it was important… possibly very important. It had been far too long since either had felt any genuine interest in pursuing a relationship. The demands of their jobs, less than stellar track records with the opposite sex, and no small amount of fear at the prospect of taking a risk had kept them in their respective lonely ruts. Something changed over the top of a martini glass… something about the other made the risks seem worth the gamble.

--

"Do you like living here?" Jim asked, eyeing the cups of butter and sour cream flanking his baked potato. Sighing, he scooped up a third of each and began to mash them through the steaming spud. In years past, he had thought nothing of adding the entire amount, but the battle to keep his cholesterol down and his weight in check meant serious changes to his eating habits. That didn't mean he liked those changes… not even a little.

"Sucks doesn't it?" Casey observed.

Looking up, he found he gaze fixed on his potato. "Living here sucks?"

Grinning, she shook her head as her eyes lifted to meet his. "No… having to give up the little things like blue cheese dressing rather than low-fat vinaigrettes… or a donut rather than a bowl of bran flakes. I used to be able to eat whatever I wanted, but… it sucks."

A devilish grin preceded, "I don't see any problems on you side of the table… just the opposite."

"Well, I don't see any on your side either," she responded. "Problem is keeping the status quo is more work than it used to be. Sucks."

"Tell me about it," he agreed, oddly relieved she understood the battle. "I work out several mornings a week, but that's not enough anymore. Once I hit fifty… Yeah, it sucks."

"Hit for me at forty," she admitted. "I hate to think it will get worse in a few years."

Mentally checking off the age range box on the 'first date questionnaire' he had been keeping in his head, Jim offered, "I'd have guessed you still had several years to go before facing 40."

That made her laugh. "Flattery will get you only so far on a first date."

"I'm being serious," he insisted, forcing his mind away from speculation of just how far 'far' was. "Frankly, I was feeling like a dirty old man. Excuse me for being a little relieved."

Smirking, she offered, "46. Your turn."

Genuinely startled… and sincerely relieved, he exclaimed, "You're kidding?"

"Sadly, no. Give."

"55… but you really do look early, mid-thirties," Jim insisted. "There are two guys at the bar eyeing you up that would agree. It's pretty clear they're wondering what you're doing out with an old man."

A shudder, part fake – part real, coursed through her body. "Now there's an intriguing through… being eyed up by two drunks at the bar. The idea has such appeal. And 55 is hardly old!"

"So… I don't need to worry you plan to ditch me after dinner and run off with one of them?" he teased. He hated feeling so needy, but… /Sofia was right/. His work had consumed his life… more by choice than need. Since his talk with the blond detective he had been questioning those decisions and had come to the conclusion he wanted… needed more.

Spearing a piece of steamed broccoli, she teased, "Not unless you plan to run off with our waitress. Or did I misunderstand the dirty look she gave me or the 'Hi Jimmy… long time no see.' Torch is definitely burning, so…"

Groaning, Jim stared at his steak as he cut off a strip. "How long must I pay for a mistake thirteen years ago? We went out once… and only once, thanks to a fix up from a guy I work with. Nothing more to tell… OK?"

"That depends… were breakfast and a promise to call involved?"

Looking up, he demanded, "What's a guy to do? If he slips out while she's still asleep or leaves without saying anything, he's a bastard. If he offers a polite, 'that was great; maybe we can get together again some time', but is always busy when she calls, he's a bastard. If he says he'll call soon to avoid a horrible, awkward moment for both of them and doesn't, he's a bastard. If he makes a dash for it after dinner, he's a bastard. If he calls and isn't really interested, what good did it do her… and he's a bastard for leading her on. If…"

Laughing, she held up her hand to stop the flow of his mock rant. "OK… you have a point. Nobody ever said life was fair… so, the bastard that slipped out while she slept is more a bastard than the one that gave a polite lie."

"But, both are still bastards?" Jim pressed, smirking. "The guy's always in the wrong."

"Of course," she retorted, starting to laugh. "That's been the rule for eons, so I don't see any reason to change things now."

Holding her twinkling gaze, he pointed out, "Well, the rule used to be the man was in charge…"

"Don't even go there!" she urged, leaning across the table to cover his hand where it lay next to his plate. "You so don't want to dig that hole!"

"But…"

"A higher order rule applies here… women have the right to change their minds," she quipped, smiling as he turned his hand so that he could take hers in a loose clasp. "Women aren't willing to pretend to go along with that idea any…"

"Now who's digging…?"

"Truce?"

"Is this a shake hands and return to our respective corners truce or a kiss and make-up truce?" Jim asked, waggling his eyebrows. "I like the sound of the latter."

Laughing, she reminded him, "I've already mentioned the first date rule… and you've already announced you have a history of one-date/one-night/no phone call, so…"

"I never said that… you assumed. It was just dinner, no breakfast… or even dessert. I was just a few years out of a bad marriage and she came on way too strong, so I backed away quickly with my hands up, weapon still holstered," he insisted, grinning as she broke into a laugh at his double entendre. "I guess I need to concentrate on there being a second date to redeem my reputation. What's the second date rule?"

"Same as the first," she retorted, shivering slightly as his thumb softly caressed the back of her hand.

"Ah… so I need to plan the second with an eye toward…" he prompted, fascinated by the twinkle in her eyes.

"And a third and a fourth and…"

Holding up his free hand, he nodded. "Got it. Good thing I'm a patient man."

Returning to her meal, she selected a plump piece of salmon. "Last rule… good things come to those that wait."

Pausing with his slice of steak an inch from his mouth, he smiled. "I'll remember that."

--

8/17/2008


	4. Chapter 4 Making a Connection

Title: By Design, Chapter 4  
Author: Sorsha711  
Fandom/Pairing: CSI; Brass/OCF  
Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations  
Disclaimer: A quick check of my bank account should prove I'm not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh! Anything you recognize belongs to the good people that bring us CSI.  
Summary: A serial killer is stalking the streets of Vegas… hell of a time for him to meet the woman of his dreams.

A/N -- This chapter largely (well, there is a little Jim/Casey flirting at the end) deals with the details of the manhunt for the serial killer, so be on the lookout for clues! Hopefully, it will all come together in the end! Thanks for reading. Feedback welcome. S

By Design, Chapter 4 -- Making a Connection

--

"We finished up the comparisons on the trace from the Ortiz and Simmons crime scenes… they were killed by the same man."

Trading a look with Sofia Curtis, Brass walked over to the table in the middle of the lab and began to examine the evidence reports Grissom had neatly arrayed across the smooth surface. "OK… we were expecting that. What can you tell us to help us find this bastard?"

"Carpet fibers consistent with a grade of heavy-duty weave used in Ford vans were found on both bodies," Nick Stokes offered, "Ford uses that particular grade of carpet in their Econoline vans."

"Color?"

"Carpet's slate grey… standard in that line of vans, so it won't give us an exterior color," Nick reported. "Hodges found residue from an industrial strength cleaner in the fibers of both samples… suggests the killer is cleaning up after himself. We may be able to match their chemical signature if you find the van he's using, but neither the van or the cleaning products are unique by themselves."

"Well… it's something, I guess. What else?" Sofia prompted.

"The fibers embedded in the restraint wounds on both women also match… nylon rope. Nothing unusual there either… but the fibers had trace amounts of automotive fluids in them," Greg offered. "My guess is the rope lay in a puddle of motor oil at some point… long enough for it to saturate the fibers. The oil was contaminated with brake fluid and antifreeze which suggests it was on a floor of a garage or work area. Find us the rope and we'll be able to match it to the trace on the restraints."

"What are we looking for… color, manufacturer?" Brass pressed, making notes on his pad.

"It's a white polypropylene monofilament rope… 8-strand," the CSI reported, handing the older man a copy of the report. "This particular brand is made by a company in China. It causes a lot of cutting and tearing of the flesh as the victim fights to free themselves… leaving trace amounts of the filament in the wound."

"We also have a match on the cotton fibers we found on both bodies… navy-blue cotton twill treated with a PVA coating to make the fabric wick perspiration away from the body. David matched them to a type of material used for summer-weight work overalls or jumpsuits. Those, along with trace amounts of latex powder found in the strangulation bruises on their necks," Grissom added, "suggest the killer is wearing latex gloves and cotton work clothing during his attacks on his victims… probably to avoid leaving skin epithelials behind."

"So… can we assume this guy wears a uniform for work?" Sofia asked, looking over at Grissom hoping for confirmation.

"It's possible, but… this type of garment is pretty common," the scientist cautioned. "Same with the latex gloves. It may be he's wearing these clothes to blend into the background when he is stalking his victims or he could wear them for work… no way to tell. We've only found one hair, so it's possible he's also wearing some type of cap or hat."

"Great," Brass muttered, his voice rich with sarcasm, "man in work coveralls wearing a cap. With all the construction activity in the Valley, it's not like we see someone fitting that description very often."

"That may be exactly why he's dressing like that," Grissom agreed. "He's also wearing heavy work boots from footprints recovered at the Simmons dump site… Steel-T Boots, based on the tread pattern. Here's the product number for the style we matched to the treads."

"OK, that all helps once we get a suspect," Jim observed. "Does any of the evidence help us find him?"

"Maybe… there were patches of a gummy substance on the area around their mouths and eyes… ID'ed it as duct tape residue," Catherine offered. "There were particles of dirt and plant spores caught in the residue that don't match either dump site but were found on both victims. My guess is the roll picked up the particles along the side of the tape when it was tossed on the ground or into the van. Those particles are then being transferred to his victims when he uses the tape."

"OK… we add duct tape to our list of search items," Brass instructed, inwardly groaning at the lack of anything special or unique about anything they had thus far heard. "Can you get anything from the plant spores… likely locations?"

"We're still running those down," Catherine reported. "As soon as we have something, I'll get it to you. Hodges sent a sample to a professor over at UNLV hoping he can identify an unknown spore in the mix. If it's rare enough, we may be able to pinpoint a geographic area. Dr. Alexander is also working on a model that maps plant DNA so that a sample can be tied to a specific area. The database isn't complete, but maybe we'll get lucky and he can help us narrow down a search area, particularly if we can tie it to soil information."

"OK," Jim responded, making a note to follow-up on the results of that request. "Anything would be appreciated at this point."

"What about the tire treads found at the dump sites?" Sofia asked, hoping for something that might help them now.

"A perfect match… Ford E-350 factory issue tires," Grissom supplied. "Based on fiber evidence and tire prints, you're looking for an Econoline, probably a 2002 based on the tires … color and style still unknown."

"Have you run a list of vans registered in Clarke County or do I need to?"

Handing him a stack of printouts, Grissom replied, "Done… long list since that van is popular with a lot of trades. We have separate lists of the same van from Nye and Lincoln Counties."

"Great. What else?"

"We found a third victim. We're still going back over a couple of other cases that have some commonality to our investigation," Grissom responded, "so we may have others to give you in a few days."

"OK… do we have an ID on the third vic or is she a Jane Doe?" Brass demanded, reaching up to massage the tense muscles of his neck.

Stepping around the two detectives, Catherine retrieved a file from the lab table behind them. "Her name's Cecilia Chambers. Body was found seven months ago… Vega was lead on that one.

"Damn!" Jim growled. "Cecelia Chambers… yeah, I remember that case."

Nodding, Gil offered, "I worked that one with Sam. The violence is escalating uncommonly fast between these attacks, Jim. You probably need to get a profiler working on the killer. I suspect he's completely out of control at this point and will only get worse… his appetite for new victims is consuming him. And, I guessing there are other bodies out there we haven't found yet. That's why we're still looking for anything that might fit our parameters in open cases."

"Wonderful!" the senior detective complained. "Body was left on a dirt road behind an apartment complex south of Vegas, so we need to take a hard look at him again. Sam liked an ex-boyfriend of Cecelia's, but never found anything to prove his theory. Is there anything else you can tell us that might help us hang him… or find another suspect if he's not the doer?"

"The killer has been refining his methods… not leaving us as much to work with as he did with her. The level of violence was definitely more controlled… less damage inflicted on the body," Grissom offered. "We found a hair on her thigh… tests on the attached follicle provided a match to the DNA from the semen left on Tina Ortiz."

Shifting through the reports on the table, he pulled out several for the detectives to review. "Lots of trace evidence recovered from her body that matched either the Ortiz or Simmons' scenes… soil samples… an oily residue found on both Angie Simmons and Cecelia Chambers. Hodges is still running that down... mix of natural and synthetic ingredients. All three had dirt embedded in their nails… probably from clawing to free themselves. The soil samples are pretty common to this area of Nevada. We have a map, but it won't be much help."

"Well, that's something," Brass conceded, before silently agreeing with Grissom's assessment as he studied the offered map. "I'll talk to Sam and get him involved… see if there's a link between the boyfriend and our other two vics. I'm not expecting much from that angle."

Nodding, Gil asked, "Didn't the ex have an alibi… strong enough to block Sam's attempt to get a warrant to compel a DNA sample?"

"Yeah… he was at work during the time when she was grabbed… assuming he had the right timeline for her abduction," Jim responded. "Sofia, we need to start running down connections between all three cases."

"Not a problem," she agreed. "I'd stay and get started, but I'm already at 13 hours on and I'm not at my best. Tomorrow morning soon enough?"

"Tomorrow's fine. Talk to Sam or me when you report in the morning so we can bring you up to speed on what we find out overnight," Jim agreed, mentally turning over all the facts of the Chambers case that he could remember. As night shift commander, Vega had briefed him regularly on his investigation. "I doubt the boyfriend is going to be our doer, but we need to eliminate him as quickly as we can."

"Why did Sam key on him?" Nick asked, recognizing the expression on the senior policeman's face. Experience told him that Brass was playing mental chess with facts of the Chambers case.

Looking up, the detective recalled, "The boyfriend had a history of abusing Cecelia… stalking and physical intimidation. Sam thought the violence escalated to rape-murder."

"Made sense… I thought he was viable too," Gil prompted. "His alibi was a little shaky wasn't it? After seven months, I don't remember the specifics of Vega's part of the investigation."

"He worked second shift," Brass supplied, a frown betraying his frustration. "Cecelia left work at around 5, but she never made it home. Her car was found the next day in a shopping center parking lot near her apartment. Her pocketbook had been kicked under the car… a sales receipt from a pharmacy time-stamped for the night before in her wallet. A clerk remembered her… thought she was alone, but couldn't add much else. Vega thought the ex slipped out of work and snatched her. His prints were all over the car."

"How long had he been the ex-boyfriend?" Catherine asked.

"Depends on who he asked," Brass hedged. "Boyfriend… Doug something, said they had gotten back together which made the fresh prints in her car easy to explain. Her mother insisted Cecelia had broken up with him several months earlier. Their friends told conflicting stories. Only consistent part was the relationship was 'rocky'."

"So… if she was kidnapped in the timeframe established by the receipt, the boyfriend was at work and is in the clear," Sofia summarized. "Was Sam able to confirm that?"

"Yeah… co-workers said he was there all evening, but they were his drinking buddies and he spends a lot of his time working alone in an isolated part of the plant near a back entrance that wasn't monitored. Her mother and sister claimed he had slipped out before to meet Cecelia, so that made the alibi shaky. I shared Sam's doubts when he refused to give up a DNA sample. Add a few lies he caught him in and Sam didn't want to let him go," Jim recounted. "Now that we know her case is tied to the Ortiz and Simmons murders, the circumstances of her disappearance fit theirs. If he has an alibi for the times they went missing, he's not our doer."

Sighing, Sofia nodded. "We need to check him out, but you're probably right… he's a non-starter."

Nodding, Jim summarized, "Yeah, which means we're still at square one."

"I was never able to pinpoint the exact time when Angie was grabbed… her car was still in the parking lot of the building where she worked, but nobody saw or heard anything to indicate a struggle to help narrow down a time," Sofia recalled. "Most of her co-workers left around 5… several confirmed she was still in her office working when they left. Her partner talked to her about 4 that afternoon… Angie told her she wasn't planning to work late… no indications she planned to stop anywhere on her way home. Kate, her partner, went there looking for Angie around 8 when she didn't arrive home and wasn't answering her phone. That's a three hour window I can't close."

"I had the same problem with Tina. She was a real estate agent, so she came and went from her office depending on her clients' schedules," Brass added. "She had a showing the evening she went missing… the couple she was meeting says she never arrived at the house… calls to her cell phone went to voicemail. They called her office the next morning to complain which lead to the missing persons report. The last anyone could remember seeing or talking to her was around 3 that afternoon. The showing was at… 6:30, so I have a 3 ½ hours gap."

"Were you able to tie down the rest of her time that day?" Nick asked. "From what you're saying, she didn't work a standard 9 to 5 like either Angie or Cecelia. Someone planning to grab one of them would know where and when to strike, but… it would be harder to plan when to go after Tina."

Flipping through his notes, Brass offered, "Let's see… Tina took the morning off for a visit to the Qua Spa at Caesars… a little gift from her lover to take the sting out of his being gone all week with his wife and kids. She met friends for lunch and shopping... bought a few things at the Forum Shops… several phone calls to and from her cell during that time."

Reading ahead, he noted, "She filled-up her Mercedes at 2:17 at a BP near her condo in Summerlin… made a few calls from home on a landline… one, 18 minutes of phone sex with lover boy. 2:45, she stopped by the sales office at new housing development near Green Valley to talk with one of their sales reps… a Todd Kier, about upgrades to a house she had shown the day before… left about 20 minutes later. Kier says she mentioned a house that had just come on the market… she wanted to try and get a preview before showing it to clients… didn't tell him an address. Secretary saw her drive out of their parking lot and turn left out of the subdivision."

"This Kier guy's story check out?" Greg asked.

"Yeah, his secretary and another salesman both confirmed he was in the office the rest of the day… didn't leave until after 7." Sighing, he looked up to meet the eyes watching him from around the lab. "They were the last people I could find that remembered seeing her… no reports from **any**one, **any**where that saw **any**thing that might help pinpoint where she was grabbed. We checked her computer at work… nothing much there… mostly searches of the MLS and county property records. Apparently, she preferred to use her personal laptop to keep of her client info."

"Not surprising," Gil observed. "Real estate is a cut-throat business."

"Yeah," Brass agreed. "We found recent searches on a couple dozen houses that matched Kier's story, but none of them panned out. I talked to her friends and family… canvassed all of her regulars haunts… went to every one of her listings, but couldn't find anything to suggest it was the crime scene. She just vanished."

"What about the laptop?" Catherine asked.

"She had it with her," Brass supplied. "It's on the list of personal items we never recovered."

"He's good," Gil mused, his gaze shifting to the files scattered around him. "He grabbed three women in broad daylight and nobody saw a thing. We need to find out how he did that."

"Yeah… but how?" Sofia asked. "We think Cecelia and Angie were grabbed in the parking lots where we found their cars, but we can't prove that. There weren't any security cameras and nobody saw anything. We have no idea where Tina was taken… we don't even have her car."

"She drove a Mercedes S-Class… a booster might have grabbed it if it sat in one place long enough," Greg speculated. "Luxury cars are solid gold to those guys… always somebody willing to buy, no questions asked, to get a prime ride at a discount."

"Possible," Jim agreed. "A BOLA went out on the car before we found her body… so far nothing to report. I'll make a few calls… rattle a few cages to see if I can get anything to pop. What else?"

"Well… all three were found stripped of all of their clothing… no personal effects were found with the bodies," Catherine observed. "Cecelia's purse was the only one we recovered. You said you had a list of missing personal property. Was any of it valuable enough to pawn?"

Nodding, Brass scanned his notes. "Yeah… Tina had very expensive tastes. One of the secretaries at her agency remembered what she was wearing the day she went missing. Yeah, here we go… a black linen pencil skirt and a pink & black stripped silk blouse… local designer… Kevin Jessop? I could tell I was supposed to be impressed."

"Yeah… pricey," Catherine agreed. "Love his stuff, but way out of my price range. What else?"

"She was carrying one of those big leather bags… expensive as hell… where did … yeah, a black Kate Spade," he offered, flipping through his notes. "She had on a pair of pink Manolo Blahnik hi-heeled shoes… secretary was drooling over them. She even found pictures on the web of all of her clothing while I was interviewing the rest of the staff."

"Fashion envy… I know it well," Catherine smirked, leaning over to study the proffered pictures. "Hummm… Tina had very good taste."

Smiling slightly at her comment, he continued. "Tina also had expensive taste in jewelry… a gold Rolex… rings, necklace, earrings. I have a list… and her mother got me pictures of what she was wearing from her insurance agent. Tina updated her policy whenever she got something pricey. Tony Osteen wasn't her first married boyfriend of means."

"Quite a haul," Gil observed, scanning the list Jim passed his way. "And Cecelia?"

Frowning, Jim admitted, "I don't remember… but I doubt she was wearing anything particularly valuable to work. She was a dental hygienist… so, probably white slacks and one of those scrub shirts… basic shoes… no rings and bracelets that would gotten in the way working on someone's mouth. Cath… you have the file. Sam would have made a list."

Flipping through the detective's reports, Catherine offered, "Sam's notes say she wore a Timex… black leather strap with a gold-tone face, and a small gold cross… gift from her parents for her confirmation… inscribed with the date on the back… 4-17-99. Clothes… yeah, just the basic medical office attire. Nothing unusual or expensive. Scrub top was white with an abstract design in pastel colors."

"About what I was expecting," Brass sighed. "The cross is the only thing that had resale value."

"Maybe not. Her Zune and cell phone weren't in her pocketbook, so they're both missing," Catherine noted. "Her mother told Sam she usually kept them in her pockets if she was out shopping… she liked listening to music… texting. "

"Zune?"

"It's like an iPod," Greg supplied, smirking, "just not as good in my opinion."

"Mac snob," Nick teased under his breath.

"Right. Let's see… Tina always carried a MacBook Pro with her when she was working… along with an iPhone, so Sanders will approve," Brass reported, going through his notes. "She kept a digital camera… a high-end Olympus… a black leather portfolio in her briefcase… also black leather. If the killer kept her personal items, he would net a tidy sum even if he sold them at a fraction of retail."

Looking over at his fellow detective, he prompted, "What about Angie?"

Referring to her notes, Sofia listed, "Angie was wearing gold earrings and a gold locket… picture of her and her lover inside. She wore a Seiko watch… and a gold commitment ring studded with a ruby, an aquamarine, and a diamond. I have a picture of the matching one her partner wears."

"That should be easy to trace if someone tries to pawn it," Grissom observed.

"Nothing so far," the younger detective offered. "She was wearing navy blue slacks and a pale yellow blouse… nice, but not designer… navy Naturalizer pumps. She carried a laptop… Dell Latitude D630, leather handbag… a Coach, outlet not retail, and a cell phone, but they weren't in her car and haven't been found."

"OK, so we have a couple of computers, a camera… an iPhone and the Zune… a Kate Spade and Coach handbags," Catherine tallied. "That's starting to add up to a nice chuck of change. Add in the Rolex and the jewelry… I doubt he tossed them in a dumpster."

"That occurred to us too. We've canvassed the pawn shops, but none of their jewelry or other belongings have shown up" Brass reported. "We need to expand the search… known fences, that sort of thing. I'll get Vega working on that."

"It might be worth taking the time to check EBay or Craig's List… other online auction sites," Greg proposed. "Phony name and address… one of those prepaid Visas… it wouldn't be hard to set-up an account and sell them without running the risk of being caught."

Blowing out a frustrated breath, Brass nodded. "That's a good idea. I'll talk to a buddy of mine over at the Cyber-Crimes Task Force and see what he can suggest. If all else fails, Connie loves to shop at EBay. I'll give her the list and see if she can track down a seller offering that list of items."

"Couldn't he be keeping this stuff as trophies?" Nick interjected. "Most serial killers keep personal effects to help them relive their kills."

"Maybe, but I tend to agree with Catherine… some of this stuff is pretty pricy," Jim agreed. "Let's take a hard look at the list of missing jewelry and electronics… anything else that may have been in their cars or purses and make sure we have it all. Maybe he's keeping them, but… we may get lucky and he's greedy as well as vicious."

"Keys."

Frowning, Jim fixed Grissom with a hard stare. "Keys? You think he might use their keys to break into their homes?"

Shrugging his shoulders, Gil observed, "We don't have much on this guy, so… maybe. Or… if he dumps their personal effects, there's always the chance a dumpster diver might find them and decide to go for a bigger haul robbing the house. We've seen that happen more than once."

"Yeah," Brass agreed. "I'll check and see if we have any b&e's at any of their addresses. Tina lived alone in a condo in Summerlin… Cecelia still lived at home with her mother. Angie…?"

"She and Kate own a house in the Cherry Lane subdivision," Sofia supplied. "You want me to give Kate a call in the morning… see if anything has come up missing since Angie's death?"

"Yeah, that would help," he replied, adding a note to follow up with the relatives of other two women to see if they had found anything missing from the dead women's homes. "I'll also check and see if Tina had picked up the keys to house she was showing… or knew the security codes for the lockbox. She was rep'ing some high end product, so the killer might have been able to grab some prime merchandise using her access. I'll go back through her listings and see it there have been any burglaries at any of those addresses."

"And I'll stop by Missing Persons on my way out tonight and get them working on generating a list of cases that might fit our MO," Sofia offered, flipping her pad shut so that she could get back to her desk and wrap up the loose ends waiting for her. "Since he seems to be escalating the level of violence uncommonly fast, you're probably right… there are other cases we haven't linked to our killer. He may have done a better job of hiding the other bodies."

"Let me know what you find out," Brass instructed. "I'll see if I can get Dr. Kane to help us with a profile. If Phil's not available, there's a professor over at UNLV that worked for the FBI. Maybe he'll be willing to give us a hand." (A/N: Dr Phillip Kane was the departmental physiatrist in the 1st season episode, _Face Lift_. He was played by Reginald Vel Johnson.)

--

Jim felt his mood brighten as the door to the small café opened to admit Casey Edgers. Smiling, he rose to his feet and pulled out the chair to his right. "Good morning. I remember you moaning about needing caffeine the morning we met, so I took a chance and ordered you coffee."

Grinning, she slipped into the chair beside the one he had claimed. "Bless you! I worked until almost one this morning, so I'm still a little groggy. 7 is pretty early in my book. Most mornings I'm still in my jammies huddled on one end of my couch willing the caffeine to do its work."

The memory of the broken bodies of the case he was working made him frown at the suggestion she had been working that late. "I don't want to come on too strong, but… do you work that late very often? The building where your office is… it's a little isolated."

Reaching over to lay a soothing hand on his arm, she agreed. "I know. I never stay late if I'm on my own. Half the office was there plus a couple of loaners from other offices… nobody left until I herded them out the door ahead of me. We have a big deadline coming up on the construction drawings for two more buildings at Celebration, so we'll be working late the next couple of days to have the bid packages ready for distribution."

Relaxing slightly, he nodded. "I don't mean…"

"You don't need to apologize, Jim. I know you see the worst side of Vegas, so I understand where you're coming from," she reassured. "Actually… I kind of like having someone worry about the weird hours I keep. I have most of what I need to work at my house… so much of design work is done on a computer these days, I can work almost anywhere. I always take my work home if I'm going to be alone in the office after dark… OK?"

"OK," he agreed, relieved she didn't resent his attitude. That had been a problem with some of the women he had dated over the years. "So… I forced you out of your jammies to meet me for breakfast. Silk or satin?"

Giggling at his waggling eyebrows, she countered, "Baggy cotton knit… sorry."

Shaking his head, he teased, "Don't be… I can work with that for now. So… do you have an aversion to silk or satin I need to know about?"

"Nope… I'm wearing satin as we speak… sage green satin."

Lost for a moment in the devilish twinkle in her blue eyes, it took a few seconds for that comment to process. A low groan preceded, "Well… that mental image will keep me awake when I should be sleeping."

"You brought up the subject without any encouragement from me," she countered, grinning as she watched him try not to get caught looking to see if he could 'catch a glimpse' of satin. "Dare I ask why you wanted to know?"

"I was just making a list of future apology gifts… you know, the getting out of the doghouse sort of stuff," Brass replied, amused by the sudden irritation his comment caused.

"So you think I can be bought off with lingerie?"

"Not a chance… never entered my mind," he promised, raising his fingers in a Boy Scout pledge. "You'd expect nothing less than sincere apologies and promises not to do whatever I did again."

Sky blue eyes narrowed as she studied him, obviously waiting for a trap to spring shut around her. "OK… so why…"

"I was giving you ideas for making up with me," he supplied. "I'll expect my apologies to come gift wrapped."

Their waitress chose that moment to arrive to take their orders. She had to wait until Casey stopped laughing.

--

8/25/08


	5. Chapter 5 Clanking Coconuts

By Design, Chapter 5  
Author: Sorsha711  
Fandom/Pairing: CSI; Brass/OCF  
Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations  
Disclaimer: A quick check of my bank account should prove I'm not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh! Anything you recognize belongs to the good people that bring us CSI.  
Summary: A serial killer is stalking the streets of Vegas… hell of a time for Brass to meet the woman of his dreams.

A/N -- Thanks so much to whoever nominated _By Design_ for Best WIP Vegas in the 2008 CSI Fanfiction Awards!! I was blown away when I found out!! Thank you!! :-D

I'd love to hear from anyone reading this story! Feedback is so appreciated!! Pretty please!

By Design, Chapter 5 -- Clanking Coconuts

--

"What we got Freidman?"

Looking up as Brass bent to pass under the crime scene tape, the uniform officer reported, "Body dumped on the side of the road, Capt. Caucasian female… I'm guessing early to mid 20's. Hard to say more given the amount of damage to her face."

Mentally steadying himself… despite over 30 years on the job, the sight of a dead body still unnerved him, Brass rounded the bumper of a patrol car and moved in the direction of the crumpled, bloody form sprawled in the roadside ditch. Spotting a young patrolman venturing too far into the main crime scene, he barked. "Back… nobody comes near the body until the coroner and CSI clear the scene. And look where you're stepping! That tread may be from our doer!"

Seeing the young man freeze… then slowly back out the way he had come, Jim irritably shook his head. /Rookies! Don't they teach them anything at the Academy anymore?!/

Crouching down to get a better look at the body, Brass felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle… instinct telling him something seemed familiar. "Damn!"

Reaching for his phone, he called Gil Grissom. "Gil… it's Jim. I'm out on…"

--

The detective stood to one side as David Phillips completed his initial inspection of the body. Nodding in greeting to the two approaching CSI's, Brass sketched out a summary of what they knew so far. "Trucker spotted a body on the side of the road and called it in around midnight. Vic's a young, white female… early 20's would be my guess, but no ID to confirm that or give us a name. Body's a mess… reminds me of the Ortiz crime scene."

"I see what you mean," Grissom offered, running an assessing eye over the scene. "Female… obviously tortured and raped… body dumped in a remote location. Looks like she was strangled… repeatedly from the bruising on her neck. Fits the basic MO of the other cases."

"Yeah," Brass agreed. "That's why I called and requested you handle this one since you're already familiar with the other cases. We need to know if this one is tied to the others A'sap so we can work that angle hard from the beginning. If it's him, hopefully, we can get something before this bastard grabs someone else."

Rising from his position next to the body, David joined the conversation. "You might want to give Lincoln County a call. We got an alert last night looking for help in identifying a couple of bodies dumped in remote areas of their county. May be connected to the ones you're working."

"You know any of the details on those victims?" Nick asked, trading a look with Brass.

"I don't remember much… we were slammed by that big pile-up on the Boulder Highway, four DOA's. I'm pretty sure the alert said they were both raped and the bodies showed signs of abuse," David offered. "I think one had been out there a while… or they found it last year… I don't remember the details. Finding the second one is what triggered the alert. They found her a few weeks ago and seem to have run out of leads."

"I'll have Vega contact Lincoln and see if their Jane Does fits our MO. What about our latest?" Brass prompted, jotting down a note to follow-up on the possibility of related cases in the adjacent county… maybe, counties.

"Body's out of rigor… decomp is pronounced… ambient liver temp," the ME replied. "I'd say she's been dead three to four days, but I don't think she's been out here that long… a few hours at most… minimal animal activity, but insects have set up shop."

Nodding, Grissom offered, "I should be able to establish an entomological timeline… tie down how long she's been out here… maybe get some indication when she died… where she was kept before the killer dumped her body."

Looking back at the corpse, David continued. "The injuries are profound. Ligature marks on both the wrists and ankles… bled heavily. There is a lot of blood on her legs… bruising is wide-spread across the torso and neck... face. Pending autopsy and forensics… looks like it may be connected to the Ortiz and Chambers cases. Don't know about the Simmons… day shift did that cut."

Nodding, Brass looked over at Grissom. "I'll start working on an ID… hope to have a name before our shift ends. I'll come by the Lab later and see if you have anything… see if the autopsy is complete."

"Right. We'll start with the ligature marks… the tire treads and look for a match to the other cases," Grissom replied. "I'm calling in Greg and Catherine to help us process the scene."

Rising, Jim pulled out his phone as he turned to walk to his car so that he could call Vega and bring him up to speed. They had a lot of ground to cover and they needed to work fast if they hoped to prevent another death.

--

Taking a sip of his coffee, he nodded his thanks as their waitress slid his plate of eggs and bacon in front of him, his double order of hash browns leaving a trail across the table as it over-spilled the edge. "Grissom has confirmed the tire treads match those from the other scene. He's still working on the rest. I should have a report on the rope fibers by tonight. No semen or hair found on the body, but Sanders found a piece of gum in a boot impression. Maybe we'll get lucky and get a DNA match."

Nodding, Sofia reached for the salt shaker to begin doctoring her eggs. "What do we know about her?"

"Her name is Libby Stevens. She was a dancer on the line at the Tropicana until she blew out her knee in a fall down some stairs last year. She'd been working at a dry-cleaners off Eastern Avenue until the knee healed or she gave up the dream," Brass offered, before taking a bit of his eggs.

"When did she go missing?"

"She was last seen on Thursday walking to a parking lot behind the cleaners after work… just after 5:30," Jim replied. "She never made it home; no trace of her car has turned up yet."

"Who filed the missing persons report?"

"Her boyfriend and roommates all came in together last Friday," he supplied. "Boyfriend works at the Paris as a blackjack dealer, so we were able to verify his whereabouts for the time she disappeared. Roommates all swear she never came home that afternoon. They had plans for a girls' night out, so they were there waiting on her. Calls to her cell phone went unanswered… no outgoing calls made on the account after 5:29 p.m. Thursday… a 4-minute call to her sister in Kansas."

"So… you can last place her in the parking lot behind the dry-cleaners where she worked, then nothing," she summarized. "Was she planning to make any stops on her way home?"

Sighing, Jim offered, "One of her co-workers told the day shift detective assigned the missing person's case she planned to run by the store for something… pantyhose… lipstick. Libby had told her about the night out… she was obviously looking forward to it. With her boyfriend working most nights and a tight budget, she didn't get to go out much anymore… it was a big deal for her."

"BOLA out on her car?"

"Yeah, went out last week," Brass confirmed. "I sent an update to dispatch tagging it to our investigation. She drove a 1964 white Ford Mustang convertible with red leather interior… mint. It was a graduation present from her father. She helped him rebuild it."

"Well, that one goes on the list of cars that would be easily resold," Sofia noted. "I always wanted one myself when I was younger… still do actually."

"Yeah, who didn't," Jim agreed, "that or a corvette. My high school fantasy car was a ride that was fast and cool!"

Smiling slightly at the glimpse of the teenaged Jim Brass, she asked, "Have you had a chance to follow-up and re-interview her co-workers, roommates… boyfriend?"

"Dry-cleaners opened at 7, so Sam was going to go by before he called it a night," Brass reported. "I talked to her roommates and the boyfriend. Their stories were consistent with the ones they gave the first detective… Dave Riggins. Nothing to suggest they know anything more than what they've already told us. I did get a name for the store where she would probably have gone for the pantyhose."

"Want me to check it out for you?" Sofia asked, before biting off a piece of bacon.

"Thanks… I'd appreciate the help," Jim agreed, flipping open his pad to give her the address. "Sam talked to Lincoln County about two Jane Does found in rural locations of their county… may be linked to our investigation. They told him they would send someone over today with copies of their reports… see what we had. He gave them your name if they come during the day."

"I'll let Nancy know to call me if they show-up," she agreed. "If we have bodies in Lincoln… do you think there are others out there outside Clark?"

"I was wondering about that," Brass agreed. "If the ones in Lincoln connect to us, we need to talk to Nye. If that leads anywhere, we'll go statewide… maybe make some calls over the state line into California and Arizona. I have a meeting with the Sheriff at 9:30 to update him on the investigation. He wants to discuss a news release, so I may go ahead and send an alert across the region… can't hurt I guess."

A frustrated nod of her head preceded, "I know we need to warn women to be on the lookout for the bastard, but going public with the details will make it harder to track him. He's going to be a lot more cautious from that point on once he realizes we're put these cases together."

"Yeah," Brass acknowledged. Needing to change the topic if he hoped to be able to finish his breakfast, he asked, "So… how are things with Denny?"

Settling in to eat his meal, Jim relaxed a little hearing her cheerful recounting of the many wonders of her lover. Her obvious happiness resurrected the memories of his first date with Casey. They had been out several times since, but the memory of their first kiss…

--

_He had given Casey a ride home after dinner, her teasing banter keeping the palatable tension in the car from becoming uncomfortable. Her small one-bedroom bungalow had been a charming mix of traditional and contemporary… at least on the inside. As she had complained, the outside was nothing special... a generic box like so many others that dotted her neighborhood._

_They had chatted easily as she made a pot of decaf and led the way into her small living room, a smile lighting his face at her 'nice to know chivalry isn't dead,' when he had reached over to take the serving tray. The couch had been surprisingly comfortable… he had pegged it as one of those purchased for style more than use when he had first seen it, but he quickly admitted he had been wrong. In many ways, it was a perfect reflection of its owner… a welcoming balance of beauty and practicality. Both made him want to settle in and enjoy the heady feeling of comfort they inspired. _

_Looking back, he wasn't sure when the need to kiss her had overcome his reluctance to face a possible rejection… she had been clear about not being willing to jump into an affair. Jim had silently hoped Casey hadn't noticed the slight tremor in his hand as he reached over to take the coffee mug from her hands. He hadn't missed the one that coursed through her body as he gently cupped the right side of her face and savored the soft texture of her skin. _

_He had held her gaze right up to the second his lips brushed hers, a gentle caress of skin that was more fleeting than either desired. A second, slightly more demanding kiss inspired him to cup her left cheek as well… the desire to pull her fully into his arms barely contained. After a few heady seconds, he had reluctantly broken the contact and his eyes had drifted open to find hers were still closed. A soft smile warmed his face, his eyes lit with a passion he hadn't felt in more years than he cared to consider. An answering fire had burned in her blue gaze as her eyes had slowly drifted..._

--

"Earth to Brass… hello!"

Startled, Jim looked up to find Sofia's blue eyes fixed on his face… an amused twinkle all too apparent. "What? Is something wrong?"

"Not at thing… other than I've been talking and you've been in your own world for a while now," she observed. "I hope this means you made that call."

Reaching for his cup of coffee, he hedged, "What call? I've made a lot of calls recently. You'll have to be more specific, Det. Curtis, if you want an answer."

"So you did!" the other detective instantly concluded, smirking at the mock glare he leveled in her direction. "Well… how did it go?"

Chuckling, Jim gave into the inevitable… besides he knew he owed her for the 'pep talk' that had moved him off of square one. "Pretty good, I think… tour of the site and dinner at JT's."

"Breakfast?"

"Actually, yes," he offered, his own smirk appearing, "two days later."

Choking on a bite of toast, Sofia coughed hard for several seconds to dislodge the bread. "You went two days without food?"

Handing her a bunch of napkins to dab at her streaming eyes, Jim admitted, "Much as I wish that was what happened… she met me for breakfast a few days later when I was getting off shift. Casey was on her way in to work. Satisfied?"

Cocking her head to one side, Sofia teased, "Sure am… but can you say the same?"

"Primed and ready, but can't claim much else at this point," he confessed. "We're been out a couple of times since… we agreed to take it slow. We're having dinner tonight and I have tickets for Spamalot this Saturday. I'm off for two nights beginning Saturday morning, so I won't have to cut the evening off early to get to work."

Chuckling, Sofia demanded, "Does she know that… the Spamalot part? That's not something you should spring on the unsuspecting."

Brass's grin turned wicked. "Would I do that?"

"You did it to me!"

"Oh, come on," he insisted, "you know you loved it! Who doesn't love Monty Python?"

"Me!"

Sadly shaking his head, he lamented, "There has to be something wrong with a person that doesn't think…"

"…clanking coconuts are funny," she completed. "Yeah, you told me. So… does Casey know what you have planned?"

His grin widened. "It was her idea! I asked what she wanted to see and the rest is, as they say, history. Lady has good taste."

"She's actually knows…"

"Can match me quote for quote… 'Nudge, nudge, wink, wink, say no more, say no more'," Brass teased. "She also knows the skits from the original cast of Saturday Night Live… loves the Marx Brothers and Mel Brooks! She has a great collection of classic rock and jazz… loves hockey and baseball… is a history buff… enjoys fly-fishing…"

Shaking her head at the pleased grin on her colleague's face, Sofia interjected, "I'm not sure if I should encourage this or not. I'm pretty sure Vegas isn't ready if this works out for two twisted souls with that particular set of likes and dislikes. One of you is pushing our luck!"

"You're just jealous!"

Twinkling blue eyes met devilish blue eyes. "You might just be right about that… but you blew your chances with me, so be careful and don't blow things with her!"

--

Brass lingered over his coffee after Sofia left to report for duty. While he realized it was probably for the best that their friendship had never evolved into more… he knew from experience the problems associated with having an affair with a colleague, it was still a bit of a shock to know it had even been a possibility. Like Sofia, a part of him would always wonder… even if things worked out with Casey, what might have been. But, at the end of the day, he knew he was lucky to have her friendship even if it never became more.

He had gotten her none too subtle reminder… that he needed to make a real effort if he wanted to have a chance with Casey. His old way of doing things had left him alone and depressed… blinded him to her overtures. Jim didn't intend to make that same mistake again.

Reaching into his pocket for his phone, he quickly found Casey's cell phone number. Her voice answered before the third ring, am excited shiver evident in her tone. "Morning, beautiful. You at work?"

Instead of answering his question, she posed one of her own. "It hasn't been a good morning so far has it? Rough shift?"

Undecided whether to be amused or uncomfortable at the fact she had immediately picked-up on the weary quality to his greeting, he hedged. "It was a long night."

Perhaps understanding her guess had been a little too on the money, she eased them along another path. "Are you off-duty?"

"Not yet… I've supposed to be off, but I have a meeting with the Sheriff in a little over an hour," he supplied. "Depends on how that goes how soon I can call it a night. Burdick wants an update on an ongoing investigation."

A slight pause preceded, "That bad?"

"Like I said, long night," Jim repeated. "Hearing your voice is a morale booster. We still on for tonight?"

"I'm looking forward to it," she promised. "If you have to work all morning, are you going to feel up to going to dinner?"

"I'll be fine," he promised. "Having something to look forward to will keep me motivated. So… are you at work?"

"Actually, I'm stuck in traffic on Paradise… total gridlock thanks to a broken water main flooding the intersection," she groused. "I have a meeting with a client at 9:00 at his office. Glad I left a little early or no way I'd make it on time. I somehow doubt Bill Dorton is the type that appreciates being kept waiting."

Remembering his past dealings with the man in question, Brass agreed. "Definitely not the type. I investigated his wife's murder a year or so ago… patience isn't one of his strong points. You're doing a project for him?"

"You investigated his wife's murder?"

"Yeah… messy story for another day," he insisted, subconsciously needing confirmation the meeting was strictly business. "So… what project are you working on for Dorton?"

"We're designing several custom homes for his company… he has a new development and wants to offer something different from the product in his other projects," Casey replied, the unasked questions regarding Margo Dorton's death coloring her voice with curiosity. "Are you still at your office?"

"No, at a diner near headquarters," Brass offered. "I met Sofia Curtis for breakfast so I could update her on the case we're working."

A brief pause, then, "Oh. Sofia is such a pretty name."

A flare of pure masculine pride… a beautiful woman was exhibiting territorial interest in the other women in his life, eased the strain on his shoulders. Grinning slightly, he teased, "Yeah it is… and she fits the name. Sofia's a real head-turner."

"Oh."

"Sofia's a friend," Jim added, having confirmed she was fishing for information about the other woman. "I'm kind of her mentor, but that's it. We're working a case together and Sofia works days, so breakfast was mostly work."

"I'm sorry," she murmured, embarrassed at having been caught 'asking'. "I have no right…"

"I'm not complaining, baby," Jim interjected. "I have to admit… hearing you were meeting with Dorton made me a little… antsy. Since his wife's death, he's become a major player in Vegas, a different beautiful woman on his arm every few months."

"So not my type," she offered, relieved he seemed as interested in her as she was in him. Jim Brass had begun to occupy her thoughts on a more and more frequent basis since that first date… their first kiss. It was a heady feeling, but one that was also a little unnerving at this point in her life. "Dorton's an arrogant prick… lots of anger issues toward women. I saw him dump his last piece of arm candy and it wasn't the stuff of Prince Charming legends."

Feeling the tension eating at him subside for the moment, he summarized, "So, Sofia isn't my squeeze on the side and you're not planning to run off with Bill Dorton."

A soft chuckle… almost a giggle whispered in his ear. "Glad we got that settled."

--

8/30/08


	6. Chapter 6 Safe is for Wusses

Title: By Design, Chapter 6

Author: Sorsha711  
Fandom/Pairing: CSI; Brass/OCF  
Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations  
Disclaimer: A quick check of my bank account should prove I'm not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh! Anything you recognize belongs to the good people that bring us CSI.  
Summary: A serial killer is stalking the streets of Vegas… hell of a time for Brass to meet the woman of his dreams.

By Design, Chapter 6 -- Safe is for Wusses

--

Brass pushed his back flat against the wall of the small waiting area of the Thai restaurant as the crowd waiting for a table shifted to allow a large party exiting the dining room to leave. Casey moved to his right side and wiggled into the space next to him… a fact his 'primed and ready' body was quick to note. Shooting the two businessmen eyeing her curves a dirty look, Jim shifted slightly to partially shield her body with his. A quick roll of her eyes followed by a glare in their direction confirmed that she had both seen and been irritated by their boorish behavior.

Leaning over to whisper in her ear, Jim promised, "It's worth the wait. Best Thai in town."

Shivering slightly as he warm breath ghosted over the sensitive skin of her throat, she whispered back, "I don't mind waiting. So, did you get a chance to get any sleep after we talked this morning?"

"I managed to grab enough to get me through shift," he hedged. "I got stuck at headquarters a lot longer than I'd hoped. The Sheriff wanted me to work with the public relations office to prepare a news release on an investigation I'm heading up. I hate working with those self-important twits more than doing paperwork."

Grinning, Casey leaned a little closer, her lips almost touching his ear. "The Sheriff or the press guy?"

Barely stifling a groan, Jim managed, "Toss up, but this time I meant the press **woman**… don't be a sexist."

Smiling lips lingered against the lobe of his ear. "We haven't even had dinner and you're already bringing sex into the conversation… and you're the one who called her a twit."

Strong, square hands framed her waist as he turned completely so that they were both leaning against the wall facing each other. Glittering dark blue eyes held hers as he murmured, "You put thoughts of sex into the conversation the second you answered the door in that dress."

Lost in his gaze, she finally remembered to ask, "What's wrong with my dress?"

Brass let his fingers spread out across the small of her back so that he could draw her a little closer, the smooth yet nubby texture of her red, raw silk sheath making his finger tips tingle from the tantalizing contrast. "Not a damned thing. Ask any man in this place and he'll tell you the same."

A faint pink blush swept up her throat to tint her cheeks. "Is it too…"

Leaning closer to rest his forehead against hers, Brass clarified, "The dress is perfect. You look fantastic… classy, but very sexy. Perfect."

He had to strain to hear her sighed, "Please don't do that."

Puzzled he asked, "Do what?"

"Make a big deal about my looks," she replied. "It makes me feel… uncomfortable. I've spent most of my adult life fighting to be taken seriously. I don't want to get involved with someone that sees me as a trophy. Been there, done that, not again."

"You're beautiful," Jim pointed out. "I can't pretend not to have noticed, but… I do get that there's a lot more to you than a pretty face. I got that the day we met… it's what intrigued me."

A soft smile returned to her lips. "Glad to hear that. I didn't mean to sound so defensive. I guess it's still a sore topic for me even after all these years."

"Bad divorce?" he prompted.

Seeing her nod, he admitted, "Been down that road myself, so I know how long those scars tend to stick around."

"Yeah… I guess they do," she agreed. "I'm sorry if…"

"You don't need to apologize to me," Jim interjected, "but it might help if I understood why your looks bother you… and yes, they obviously do bother you. I can't pretend I don't think you're gorgeous, but I don't want you to feel uncomfortable when I give you a complement or think that's why I'm so attracted to you. Want to talk about it?"

Sighing, she reached out to toy with his tie. "Long story for another time. A crowded restaurant isn't the best place for heart to heart talks."

Tilting his head to try and catch her eyes, he offered, "We don't have to eat here if you'd rather go somewhere a little quieter."

Another soft smile lifted in his direction as she smoothed the front of his jacket, tucking his tie back into place. "A talk like that one… it may be rushing things. We haven't been seeing each other that long and we agreed to…"

"We agreed to take our time getting to know each other before we jumped into bed," Jim interjected, his voice pitched to a low rumble to avoid being heard by the restaurant's other patrons. "'Our time' means what works for us. If you want to talk about something that's bothering you, it falls under the heading of 'getting to know'."

"It's just… I don't want to feel like I'm hanging onto old issues and not judging you as you," Casey whispered. "That's not fair to either of us."

Something was obviously bothering her and instinct warned him it was the type of issue that had to be handled appropriately from the beginning or it would undermine any chance they might have to make a go of a long-term relationship. Frankly, that wasn't a risk he was willing to take. They may have known each other for only a few weeks, but he already knew he was falling hard… falling for Casey, the woman, not simply her looks or her success. If missing a meal was what it took to make that clear to her too, then… there was always In&Out takeout.

--

Jim watched as Casey rattled around her small kitchen gathering plates and napkins for their meal. "I won't know how to act eating a burger off of a china plate."

A slightly devilish smile turned in his direction. "You pick it up with both hands and bring it carefully…"

"Very funny!"

The smile lingered as she pointedly chose a delicate china pattern with a dainty floral motif. Linen napkins and silver tableware joined the plates on her dining room table beside the brightly hued paper bags containing their meal. "I guess crystal glasses are a little over the top for shakes aren't they?"

That made him laugh. "Why let that stop you at this point?"

Her smile turned into a smirk… a sight he found intoxicating. Two tall crystal glasses were carried to the sink and the contents of their paper cups were carefully transferred. From the care she took, it was clear she knew the quality of the shake… not a drop was lost in the process.

Turning back to find him watching her with an amused grin lighting his face, she announced, "Dinner is served."

Holding her chair for her to sit, he swallowed hard as she bent forward slightly as she settled into her seat. That small movement caused the neckline of her sheath to shift affording him a clear view of the creamy tops of her breasts. Given her cryptic comments at the restaurant, he knew he needed to refrain from making his appreciation for her lush curves too apparent until he knew what was bothering her.

"I have to admit I have a real weakness for an In&Out double double," Jim offered, as he took his seat across from her. "I'd have one of their strawberry shakes everyday if I could get away with it."

Smiling, Casey nodded in agreement. "I have to limit myself to two a month… unless it's been a really bad day. Bad day always trumps bad diet."

Biting into a fry, Jim joked, "I like that philosophy. Can you explain it to my doctor? I can't get him to understand the logic."

"Logic… yeah, about as much logic as there aren't any calories in a broken cookie or cake crumbles don't count," she smirked. "My doctor is just as unimaginative and rigid in his thinking as yours."

"Broken cookies don't have calories? Why am I just hearing this?" Jim demanded before taking a big bite of his burger. A blissful smile settled on his face as he savored the taste.

"Do I need to leave you two alone or should I just light you a cigarette?"

Looking up, he pretended to consider her question. "Don't think I missed the moan you gave up over that shake. I was jealous."

Chuckling as she lifted her own burger, she retorted, "I have no idea what you mean… you must have imagined it."

"Right… it must have been me," he agreed. "So… do you have any documentation on this broken cookies theory?"

"My best friend swears by it," she reported. "Mitzi believes breaking a cookie causes the calories to dissipate into the air. Of course, she gave up her bikini for a one-piece with a skirt years ago… not that she or her husband care. Ricco thinks she's the most beautiful woman on the beach and his is the only other opinion she cares about. Mitzi may have a better handle on what's important in life than any other person I know. She and Ricco live each day with a sense of joy and adventure… I've always wished I could be more like them."

Taking another bite of his burger, he debated how to ask his next question. Finally he decided the direct approach might be best. "Why can't you… live like that?"

Sighing, she toyed with the straw of her drink. "Do you really want to get into this, Jim? We haven't been seeing each other that long and…"

"If we can't talk about what matters, we'll never get to know each other on more than a surface level," he observed, unaware that he had dropped the wall that hid his real feelings and thoughts from causal observation. For once, his expression was both open and touchingly vulnerable. "I'm tired of surface, Casey… and I'm hoping you are too."

Seeing her gaze falter, he proposed, "Look… maybe it is too soon for this kind of discussion, but… my life has become pretty empty. I almost died a couple of years ago. The only people that came to the hospital were a few of my closet friends from work, but… I'm pretty sure none of them really know me… the person. They know Capt. Brass… well, maybe a few tidbits about Jim, but not all that much. My daughter and I rarely talk… that's a long sad story by itself. She didn't even wait for me to wakeup before she took off."

Acting on instinct, Casey reached over to cover his hand where it lay on the table next to his plate. He quickly turned his hand to grasp hers. His need called to her… spoke to a similar need she tried to hide from everyone, even herself. "Jim, I…"

"I guess what I'm sayings is… something about you… I feel a need to know you… the real you," he admitted, driven to finish what he had begun before his defenses dropped back into place. "I know that doesn't make much sense… hell, it probably sounds insane, but its how I feel. Something is bothering you… something that seems to be getting in the way of your feeling you can really give this a chance. I may be setting myself up for a major disappointment, but… I'm looking for a shot at serious here, not surface. That means I have to take risks, but… it means you do too."

The air around them seemed to crackle with tension. Both knew the course of their relationship could be made or broken by how she responded. He had laid himself bare… or as bare as he had willing allowed in years, perhaps decades.

The scene reminded her of a tennis match between two tired and wary players. The ball was in her court and she had to decide how to play it out. She could ignore it so that it passed her by… or she could send it careening wildly out of play with a joke or an ill-considered comment. A soft lob was another option… a gesture more than a real response… safe, but not genuine… more 'surface'. Or, she could meet him head on… send the ball fearlessly back in his direction and see how it all played out. Play to keep the rally going… or more correctly, take a risk and mean it.

The memory of a conversation she had had a few weeks before she moved to Vegas inexplicably came back to her. She had asked her friend Mitzi how she and her husband managed to have such a great partnership after over thirty years of marriage… how they kept their passion and commitment so vital. Sitting there holding Brass's hand as he waited for her to answer, she finally understood her friend's response.

"_We embrace the risks. Safe is for wusses."_

Glancing up at the clock on the mantle over her fireplace, Casey noted it was just after 8. Knowing he had to report for his shift at midnight, she prompted, "Finish your meal and we'll move this to the living room. Heart to heart confessions are easier on a comfortable couch."

A relieved smile erased the strain that had appeared on his face as he waited for her answer. Reaching over to snag a French fry off of her plate, he grinned as she playfully smacked at his hand. Casey might have seen their situation as being akin to a tennis match, but Jim felt more like a traveling salesman trying to wedge his foot in the door so he could have a shot at closing the most important deal of his life. Wiggling his toes as much as his shoes allowed, he breathed a little easier as the door cracked open and he slipped inside.

--

A/N -- Well, what do you think of the story so far??

9/11/08


	7. Chapter 7 A New York Minute

Title: By Design, Chapter 7

Author: Sorsha711  
Fandom/Pairing: CSI; Brass/OCF  
Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations  
Disclaimer: A quick check of my bank account should prove I'm not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh! Anything you recognize belongs to the good people that bring us CSI.  
Summary: A serial killer is stalking the streets of Vegas… hell of a time for Brass to meet the woman of his dreams.

By Design, Chapter 7 -- A New York Minute

--

Brass smiled as he watched Casey kick off her heels and curl her shapely legs under herself as she settled into one corner of the couch. The mug of coffee carefully cradled in her hands looked to be more milk than caffeine, but he suspected she had made the pot more for him than for herself. He appreciated the boost a few mugs would give to his flagging energy. He had managed only four hours of sleep before his alarm clock had roused him to get dressed for their date. A romantic evening at a nice restaurant had been the plan, but he was strangely elated their date had followed a less conventional path.

Her soft voice broke into his silent musings. "So… where do you want to begin?"

Jim had no trouble reading the hesitancy in her eyes. She felt vulnerable and unsure of herself. Casey Edgers, architect/businesswoman… that was a role she carried off with confidence and a breezy style that hid any signs of insecurity. For some reason, a reason that completely mystified him, she doubted herself as a woman.

"Why does it bother you that I think you're beautiful? I don't think that's all there is to you… not by a long shot," he prompted, taking a seat near the middle of the sofa so she wouldn't feel crowded. "Your work is impressive as hell and we seem to have a lot in common… interests, sense of humor… I think there's something special here."

"I think so too," she whispered, taking a sip of coffee. "As for… it's just… I get uncomfortable when people make a big deal about my looks. I feel like they're a lie… like I'm hiding behind a mask and people aren't seeing the real me."

"OK," he acknowledged, still clueless as to what was bothering her. "Why is that?"

He had to strain to hear, "I've… had plastic surgery."

"OK… this is Vegas," Jim replied, still wondering where this was going. "Probably 75 of the women and half the men that live here can say the same thing. Why does that fact bother you so much?"

Sighing, she leaned forward to put the mug on her coffee table as she focused her gaze on the large rug covering the living room floor. "Because… I didn't want the surgery. It bothered me a lot consenting to have it done… like I was admitting I wasn't good enough."

"Then why…?"

"I did it to make my ex happy… stupid reason right?" she confessed.

"I've heard of a lot worse things people have done to try to make their spouse happy," he responded, not sure what else to say until he knew more. "At the time, it probably seemed like the only thing you could do."

"Maybe, but in retrospect, the marriage wasn't worth saving… my husband was only interested in his own ego… his own pleasure," she whispered. "My best interests never factored into the mix."

"In retrospect, a lot of things don't make as much sense as they did at the time we make tough decisions," Jim gently offered. "We don't get an advanced preview. We do the best we can with what we know at the time and hope for the best."

"This… I should have known better, but… looking back, I see how it happened. I was this awkward kid from the sticks that wanted to be accepted… I felt I had a lot to prove and… maybe, having the surgery just seemed like the easiest way to be accepted," she confessed. "Just saying I was awkward is a kind description of me when I arrived in New York. I've thought about this a lot… and I'm still not completely sure why I did it."

"Most kids from small towns feel like a fish out of water when they get to a big city, so New York must feel like an all-you-can-eat sushi bar," Jim observed, offering her an encouraging smile. "It can be overwhelming. On top of being on your own for the first time, your parents aren't around to be your safety net."

Smiling absently at his joking description of New York, she admitted, "I never really had that safety net… well, not for years before I left for college. My mom died in a car wreck when I was eight. She was seven months pregnant… the baby died too."

Reaching out to lay a comforting hand on her arm, he whispered, "I'm sorry, Case. I didn't know."

"I hadn't told you… I still find it hard to talk about," she responded, sending him a sad smile. "Dad was driving… his injuries were fairly minor, at least as far as I was told, but… he fell apart in the aftermath. It wasn't his fault… we were hit by a drunk driver on a two-lane road… he came around a blind curve into our lane going almost 100 mph. The other driver died too… killed on impact."

"You were with them when it happened?"

Nodding, she murmured, "We were on our way to visit my grandparents… they lived near Colorado Springs. I was asleep on the back seat… was pretty banged up, so it was several weeks before they told me she had died. I didn't go to their funeral… it was over before I knew what had happened. That might have made it seem real. As it was, I didn't understand what was happening… was in a lot of pain and kept crying for my mom. It was months before it began to sink in… but, Dad… he never got over it."

"That must have been hard," Jim acknowledged, squeezing her arm. He wanted nothing more than to pull her into a comforting embrace, but he knew she needed to talk this through if she was ever to begin to heal. Embraces would have to wait. "Were you an only child?"

"Yeah… they were so excited to be having a second baby… they planned to name him Toby. Dad fell into a depression and never got better," she lamented. "He wasn't abusive… never drank, but… it was like I was living with a ghost. Nothing anybody did snapped him out of it. He died… heart attack, a few years after I moved to Miami. I loved him dearly, but… it sometimes seemed like he had forgotten I was still alive… needed him."

"Where was home?"

"We were living in Denver at the time, but we moved to a little town south of Dayton, Ohio… Stevensville, a year after we lost them. It was mom's hometown," she replied, her eyes glazed with painful memories. "Dad lost his job… he was an accountant… stopped showing up for work… made a lot of costly mistakes. His boss came over a bunch of times to try and talk to him… get him help. Mr. Alexander finally had no choice but to let him go."

A tear trickled down her pale cheek as she recalled, "Pops… my grandfather, gave him a job in the garage he owned… mostly doing odd jobs. Dad wasn't very mechanical, so I doubt he was much real help to the business. We moved into an apartment over the shop. In a little over a year, our whole world turned upside-down… never really came back together."

"How long did it take for you to get back on your feet?"

"I was in and out of the hospital… therapy for the next several years," she murmured. "Moving to a new town on top of the rest… I wasn't the happiest kid around. I didn't know anybody there other than a couple of my cousins… and they were older than me. I hated it… missed my friends back in Denver. Most of the people in town thought Dad was crazy, so they didn't want their kids playing with me."

"Why did they think that?"

Sighing, she explained, "He talked to himself… actually, he talked to mom and the baby. I've always wondered if he suffered brain damage from the wreck… or if he was in some form of protracted shock. I think Pops knew more than he let on, but… whatever it was, Dad never got any better. I guess it was easier for people to ignore us than try and help. I tried to get him to see a specialist once I could afford it, but… he refused… just smiled and told me not to worry about him. Nothing I tried helped."

"I'm sorry," he whispered, sincerely bothered by the glimpses of her childhood she was revealing to him. "I know that doesn't help much now, but… I'm sorry."

A small smile brightened her face. "It helps."

After holding his gaze for a moment longer, she quietly went back to her story. "I had a slow recovery… was teased constantly by a lot of the kids at school and around town, so I didn't go out much… focused on my schoolwork. It was the only thing that seemed to be going right. It paid off when I finished top of my class and won a full scholarship to Columbia."

"I'm impressed. Under the circumstances, your accomplishments mean a lot more than just academic success. A lot of kids would have given up and never done anything with their lives," he observed.

"Maybe." Staring blindly at the rug, Casey explained, "Going to Columbia was more than a chance to study at one of the best schools in the country… it was a chance at a new life. But… it wasn't until I got to New York that I realized how… ill-prepared I was for life in general, but life there… I was in way over my head and it was years before I began to find myself. By then… I'd given most of 'me' away trying to fit in."

Deciding he needed to better understand her childhood if he hoped to appreciate the impact it had on her choices as a young adult, he asked, "Were you close to your grandparents?"

"Dad's folks… they didn't seem to know what to do, so they did nothing. We didn't see them much since they lived in Colorado. Grammy Meg died a few years after mom… she never got over loosing her and the baby either," Casey offered. "Pops… I adored him… he was the one I depended on. He loved to read… I got that form him. He'd wanted to be an architect when he was a kid, but his family couldn't afford to send him to college. He encouraged my interest once he saw I shared his passion for the topic."

A nostalgic smile accompanied, "He must have checked out every book in the local library on the subjects of architecture, urban design… city planning, and development. Frankly, he had a much better eye for design than a lot of architects I can name. The day I got my acceptance letter to Columbia… I don't think he stopped smiling for a month. I know he bragged about 'his granddaughter, the architect' until the day he died."

Her smile was replaced by a wistful expression as she recalled, "I guess my becoming an architect took some of the sting out of his not being able to follow his dream. I always made a point of sending him my work… he'd give me really good, practical feedback… but he had a whimsical side that loved to encourage me to be daring and innovative. He'd have loved the plans for _Celebration_."

"You were lucky to have him," Jim soothed.

"I know," she agreed, absently wiping the tears off of her face. "He inspired my design choices for the _Peaks Casino_ complex. He loved Art Deco, so I used the Hoover Dam as a starting point for the design. Pops grew up in Chicago in the 20's, so he always though of Art Deco was the height of style. I used to go with him to visit family. I still love it there. If it weren't for the winters, I'd move tomorrow."

"I feel like that about New York," Jim admitted. "Newark was always in its shadow… New York was the center of everything. I hate the cold though… and it's too close to my past to be where I want to be."

"I get that." A shared smile reinforced the moment, hinting at the connection they were forming… had been forming since they met.

"Like I said, New York was a shock to my system," Casey remembered as he urged her to continue. "I was so out of my depth… I'd never lived in a big city, my clothes were mostly hand-me-downs from aunts and cousins that didn't fit right or thrift store finds. Pops did his best, but… fashion wasn't his thing and money was always tight. I eventually developed my own version of street chic… was the 'edgy' one in my class, but that was a five-year work in progress. Year one, I was a total disaster."

"I went to Seton Hall, so East Orange wasn't quite Manhattan. I didn't have much money either, but I got by wearing jeans and t-shirts," Jim acknowledged. "I guess guys have it easier in that department… or at least they used to."

"In a lot of departments and they still do." A sad smile hovered on her lips as she recalled, "I had to work to pay my living expenses, so I didn't have time to hang out and try to make friends. Most of the other kids in my classes came from families that could afford to support them, so I was the odd one out again."

Pausing to pick up her mug of coffee, she took a sip. "It used to make me so mad to hear my roommate call her folks for money for some legit-sounding something and know it was all a lie… partying money or money for more clothes or whatever. Allison loved to mock me by singing this stupid song, "Goody-2-Shoes", whenever I'd say something about her scams. I still get mad when I hear it."

"Yeah, I know the song… I hate it too," Jim replied. There had been an obnoxious desk sergeant back in Newark that had loved to hum the refrain whenever he saw Brass in the months after he had helped bust the corruption ring in the heart of his old department. The man had been clean, but like so many of his fellow cops, they had pegged him as a rat and he never regained their respect… ultimately, that had been one of the main reasons he had moved to Las Vegas.

Unsure why the mention of such an insipid song had made him look so… defeated, Casey hesitated. "Jim?"

"I'm fine… story for another day," he dismissed. "So… your roommate was a total bitch."

Noting the tender smile that accompanied a small nod for her to continue, she reluctantly offered, "Allison loved to find ways to make me the class joke… was always setting me up. I fell for her set-ups a couple of times, but I eventually learned not to trust anything associated with her… better safe than sorry. When all else failed, she thought it was so funny to come to the places where I worked with her crowd and have me wait on them… then stiff me for a tip."

"I know that one… her male twin must have been one of my roommates," Jim shared. "My folks wanted me to go to college, but finding the money would have made that more a dream than reality… then, I got into some trouble. The judge gave me a choice of jail or the Marines. I did two tours in Viet Nam. Straightened me out and gave me the chance to earn enough for tuition, but I still had to work for the day-to-day stuff… food, board, clothes. I was always the poor kid from Newark."

That comment earned him another soft smile. It felt good to be able to admit how much being the 'poor kid' had stung… and to have the other truly understand why. "I guess there are worse things."

"Yeah, sure… but try telling that to me then. When it got to be too much, I was close enough to go home for visits… they were so proud of me," Jim recalled, a bittersweet smile on his face. "If I needed a little morale boost, I'd go home and Mom would treat me like her returning prince… complete with a plate of her famous meatloaf and mashed potatoes… or her lasagna if she knew I was coming and had time for the sauce. Best food in the world when you need to feel like someone cares."

"Pops' was fried chicken and potato salad… or tuna casserole," she whispered, lost for a moment in his smile. "He wasn't the best cook for a lot of things, but he made the best fried chicken I've ever tasted… and I still make his tuna casserole when I want comfort food."

"That works," Jim whispered, reaching over to take her hand and give it a gentle squeeze. At that precise moment, they both needed to underscore the emotional connection they were forging with a touch. "So… you were 'the edgy' one in your class."

"Eventually, but not for a long time," she sighed, shifting closer to him as she replaced her almost untouched mug of coffee on the table. "I was painfully shy and uncomfortable in crowds. It took me years to be able to fake being at ease… I'm still faking that I guess. Large receptions and banquets have always been my idea of torture."

Seeing his nod of understanding, she continued. "Anyway, I finally made a few friends. Mitzi was a graphic design student… lived down the hall from me. Grad school was easier than undergrad… I was older and a lot surer of myself. Mitzi and I got an apartment… a ratty five-floor walk-up, but it was ours, so that made it OK. My big break came when I snagged an internship with one of the top firms in the City. My life seemed to finally be on track… then I met my ex."

"Where did you meet him?' Jim asked, tamping down the flash of jealousy he felt at hearing her mention about her ex-husband.

"Robert was one of the senior partners at the firm where I went to work," she recounted, her eyes flittering away from his as the familiar sense of embarrassment at that fact swamped her. "He took an interest in me... I was flattered and excited at the prospect of being his protégée. In reality… I was such a naïve fool and… I didn't know how to say no when the big seduction came."

Tightening his hold on her hand, he demanded, "Did he force you…?"

A sad smile accompanied a gentle squeeze to his fingers in response to his concern. "No, but… he did take advantage of me. I never expected him to be interested in me. I was a 24-year old virgin, clueless when it came to men; he was 57… married. I had developed this stupid crush in him, but I never imagined… We worked late one night and… suddenly I was his mistress, the office joke."

Raking a weary hand through her hair, she added, "His wife found out and filed for a divorce… their daughter later told me she had been looking for an excuse for years. I was the slutty bimbo that broke up the marriage. He'd been cheating for years, but it was one of those polite secrets everybody in their social circle knew but nobody talked about in public."

"Because of the divorce, gossip about our affair made it beyond the drawings rooms of the Upper East Side and became was fodder for the press," she explained. "A few days after the final decree Robert swept me away to Paris for a whirlwind wedding… as much to thumb his nose at the gossips as to piss off his mother… 'But, Robert, she's so… common.' I soon realized I was his trophy, not his partner… that was a devastating realization."

"OK, I get that," Jim acknowledged, the pieces of the puzzle starting to drop into place.

"I should have seen what a selfish bastard he was from the start, but then… I convinced myself it was all so romantic. I thought I was the only…" Sighing, she admitted, "Robert took me places… helped me polish off the rough edges. He exposed me to the arts and gave me experiences I couldn't have hoped to have at that point in my life… especially without family connections to open doors. But, all that came with a huge price tag. I just didn't realize it until too late."

"What happened?"

"I was his latest toy… a 'fixer-upper' he could mold into his fantasy woman… or one of them anyway. At first, it was the way I styled my hair… the color… my clothes. Then I needed to loose weight… get rid of the baby fat on my thighs and hips. Looking back, there was nothing wrong with my weight… but I was skinny as a rail by the time we divorced… had a borderline eating disorder," Casey offered, unconsciously running her free hand over her left hip as if to wipe away the unwanted reminders of her youth.

"Before long, it was my nose needed to be 'refined' and my lips were a little too thin," she recalled. "He hated the scars I had from the wreck, so… they had to be 'corrected' as much as possible. A nip here, a tuck there… skin grafts… peels. I look at old pictures of me from before and… I'm still basically me and yet… I'm not."

"I'd like to see them," Jim admitted, overwhelmed by curiosity and the need to pinpoint the changes that bothered her so much. "Will you show them to me?"

Obviously uncertain about the advisability of letting him see her pictures, she hesitated several seconds before rising to walk to a nearby bookcase. Pulling a photo album off of the shelf, she sat beside him and began to flip through the pages. Finding the ones she wanted, she turned the album so he could see the pictures.

In a strangely detached voice, she murmured, "In the end, he left me for a younger, prettier upgrade and I… it left me feeling like I'd lost myself in trying to make him happy… in trying to be accepted by a bunch of pretentious bastards that I didn't even like. He found me lacking… and I ended up feeling the same way."

Leaning closer so that he could study the pictures, Jim frowned. "Honestly… I don't see any difference. You were beautiful day one in New York."

Tilting her head to meet his earnest gaze, she gave him another sad smile. "That's sweet, but… I see it."

"You see what?" Jim insisted. "Here… look at this picture. OK, your hair style is different and you have highlights, but your face hasn't changed other than…"

An eyebrow lifted as she pressed, "Other than?"

Sighing, Jim fidgeted. "You were what… 20 or 21 when this one was taken?"

"I know I'm not a kid anymore, but… it's not about age," she insisted, covering his hand where it lay on the edge of the album. "The changes caused from my face maturing don't bother me like they do most women. It's the surgical changes I let myself be talked into making that eat at me."

"Show me. I really don't see…"

"My nose… it was 'shaved' to make it thinner and more delicate," she sighed, pointing to the areas of her face where surgery had changed her appearance. "My hairline was realigned to give me more forehead. My lips were plumped with injections. My eyes have been highlighted by permanent liner tattooed along the edge of my lash-line. My ears were tucked to make them less obvious… they're too big apparently, so making them hug my skull was the best they could do. The scars… they were mostly on my arms and chest, so you can't see them in these pictures."

"It all hurt like hell and…" she whispered, her gaze dropping to her lap as she confessed, "I wish I'd been strong enough to say no and not let it happen. I drew the line at letting them restructure my cheekbones and I refused to get implants, but… I gave in and let the rest happen."

"All right… I can see a little change to your hairline, but it wasn't much," Brass offered. "The rest… I just don't see it. And why would he think you needed implants? You're… stacked."

That made her giggle softly. "Thank you… I think, but I meant cheek implants… not…"

"Oh," Jim responded, breaking into her explanation before she could say more. /I'm glad she didn't nail me to the door that a boob job was the first thing that occurred to me! She **is** stacked, so…/

"That part of me… that's natural," she offered with a rueful shake of her head. /Men!/

"So… why implants to your cheeks?" Jim asked, forcing his eyes back to the pictures.

"To give me higher cheekbones. Most of the changes weren't major… less than a millimeter on my nose… apparently, I wasn't symmetrical enough, but those surgeries became huge battleground issues in our marriage," she admitted. "It… I hate looking at my face because it reminds me of how weak I was to let that bastard make me his living mannequin. At this point, my anger is mostly aimed at me… comments about my looks remind me of what **I **was willing to do to be accepted."

"How long were you married?"

"We were together for seven years, married for five," she replied, still refusing to meet his gaze.

"Did he ever make you happy?" Jim pressed, determined to understand why she was still so paralyzed by choices a 20'ish year old woman made to try and find her place in a hostile environment.

"The marriage was a disaster on every level from day one. I wanted children, he didn't. Robert had three grown children from his first marriage… the oldest was almost ten years older than me. Chloe's my age. Their mother was from another society family, so she was a suitable mother for his offspring; I wasn't," she whispered, her bitterness evident. "Hell, we didn't even share a bedroom… he preferred having his own room so he could come and go as he pleased. We had been married for over a year before I realized what that meant."

"He was screwing around?"

A faint nod. "Pops used to tell me 'a man that will sleep around **with** you will sleep around **on** you'. He was so disappointed in me for having an affair with my married boss and… I felt I had it coming. I knew better and… it made me feel cheap… guilty. The fact that there had been other 'other women' didn't change the fact that was what I was. That's a large part of why I agreed to marry Robert. I thought it would help me regain my sense of self-respect to be his wife not his bimbo."

"Still… it hurts to find out your spouse cheated," Jim quietly offered. "Mine did… repeatedly. It does a number on your self-confidence and pride."

Looking up, she had no difficulty in seeing the scars his own marriage had left on his spirit. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah… but I guess I don't have the right to play the martyr either since I retaliated and had an affair of my own," he admitted, the disapproving voices of the nuns that taught him in school echoing in his memory. "So… the marriage was a disaster from day one?"

"Are you OK…"

"I'm fine… twelve years of parochial school leaves its mark, so guilt I have in spades. And, I remember… quid pro quo," Jim interjected. "If you want to hear it, I'll offer up my own confessional another night. I'm afraid my tales of woe would take longer than we have tonight."

Holding his gaze for several seconds, she nodded as the sincerity of his commitment to taking risks broke the rest of the way through her deeply embedded reserve. A knot of pain and self-loathing buried in her subconscious began to ease as the memories that had long smothered her spirit started to loose their grip on her heart. Something in his deep blue eyes offered the security, the comfort, she had been looking for since the day her world fell apart when she was a child.

"So…" Jim prompted, recognizing the sudden warmth in her gaze for what it was… renewed hope. He felt a similar fire kindle in his heart. "You wanted children, but he didn't."

Refocusing with a visible effort, she recalled, "Yeah. Besides the arguments over having children… his plans for 'improving' me, we fought about my career. He insisted I give it up; I refused. It galled him my work was starting to garner praise. His career had been pretty unremarkable."

"You're very good," Jim offered, closing the last of the distance between them so that he could pull her firmly against his side. Twin sighs of relief whispered on the air. Taking a steadying breath, he continued. "I was blown away when you took me on the tour by your talent and creativity. Seeing the perspectives… wow!"

A smile returned to her face as she tilted her head to meet his gaze. "That means a lot, Jim. Thank you."

Smiling back, he insisted, "I mean it… and I'm sure I'm not the first man you've dated to tell you that."

"Actually… you are," she confessed. "Robert… the few other men I've been involved with… none of them ever said that."

"I'm just telling you the truth," he insisted. "And, I meant it when I said you fascinate me."

A soft blush spread over her face and throat. "I guess we have that in common because you fascinate me too."

Chuckling, he reached out to gently run the back of his fingers along the curve of her cheek as they shifted slightly so that they were partially facing each other. "Well, I think that makes you the first."

"I somehow doubt that," she whispered, reaching up to take his hand. "I think it's more likely you just don't notice… which works out for me. Otherwise, you wouldn't have been free to hit on me at that site that day."

"I did not…"

"Yeah, you did." Cradling his hand between both of hers as she cuddled against him, she added, "And I've very glad you did."

"I think you hit on me… giving me that wink and your card," he teased, shivering with pleasure at the feel of her lush body nestling against his side.

"OK, we hit on each other," she proposed, relaxing completely as the walls between them crashed.

"Works for me," Jim agreed. "So… you were saying…"

"Not much else to say. He was always talking down to me… I was this stupid hick from the sticks while he was the suave, sophisticated New Yorker. He loved trying to embarrass me in front of his friends… I was their favorite joke," Casey recounted. "In the end, he walked out on me when I stopped letting him control me."

"He just walked out?"

Nodding, she admitted, "I was actually happy to see him go at that point, but… the how sucked. He left a note with the housekeeper telling me he was leaving me… he had flown to France for Fashion Week with his latest mistress… an 18-year old model that was only too happy to have him spend his money making her 'perfect'. He expected me to be out of our townhouse before they got back. I was to leave everything… anything he had given me… clothes, jewelry, gifts… even my dog and just disappear."

"Even the dog?"

"Robert hated Skye as much as she hated him… she was a Scottie he had given me for my 30th birthday and he expected me to leave her behind… bastard. She was like my baby and he knew it," Casey complained, the issue of her dog obviously having been the one that tipped the scales into a full blown fight. "He planned to renege on our pre-nup and give me nothing… got me fired from the firm. After what he'd put me through… ugly divorce doesn't begin to describe how bad it got from there."

Relinquishing his hand, Casey leaned over to retrieve the coffee carafe and refilled his empty mug. Picking it up, she handed it to him as she recalled, "We were fodder for the society page gossips again. I got what I was promised in the end plus the townhouse… which was originally his mother's. I sold it to her the same day he deeded it over to me and gave the proceeds to charity… it one of the highlights of my life when I got to write those checks!! Pissed him off royally!"

Laughing at the smirk that memory brought to her face, he asked, "How did his family take that bit of news?"

"Elizabeth loved it, especially since I gave the money to her favorite charities," she grinned. "His mother and two youngest children actually sided with me during the divorce. Only the oldest, Robert Junior, took his side. By the end of our marriage, Chloe and Dan liked me better than him I think. I still get cards from Elizabeth on my birthday and at Christmas. I reciprocate. Chloe and I have dinner together whenever we're in the same city. She'll be in town next month and we're planning to get together one night. She wants to meet you, so you have plenty of time to decide if you want to join us or be 'unavoidably detained at work'."

Grinning, Jim nodded. "I'll let you know. Does he know she still keeps in touch with you?"

"Without a doubt and he hates it," she smirked, her mischievous nature reassuring itself now that the worst of her confessional was over. "She even called him from the table one night and told him about an award I won from AIA. It was a pretty big deal and she wanted to rub his face in it. You could hear the ice dripping off the phone once he realized why she'd called."

"How did you get to Miami from New York?"

"After Robert got me fired from his firm, I found a job working for their principle competitor… bringing along several clients in the process. Brad Harmon was one of them," she offered. "I stayed in New York for a couple of years after the divorce building a professional network of my own… making a name for myself as an architect… Edgers is my maiden name. I was approached by my current firm with an offer that made me a junior partner. They had an office in Miami and they agreed to let me work from there. Mitzi and Ricco had moved there after we graduated and… I wanted to spend time with my best friends."

"So, Miami was your choice?"

"I was hoping for a fresh start away from New York… away from the gossips that never saw me as anything but Robert's little plaything," she concluded. "He once told me that his partners had overlooked his seducing me because they wanted him to polish me up so I could be eye candy for the clients. They didn't give a damn about my ability as an architect… frankly, they would have been happier if I was the bimbo they expected me to be. Our divorce… my switching firms with the attendant loss of clients caused a lot of negative publicity and they've never been able to reclaim their former standing. The firm isn't the power it once was."

Sighing, Casey concluded, "Anyway, I moved to Miami, but it never felt like home. Las Vegas seemed like a good fit, so I moved here. Maybe third time's the charm."

Holding her gaze, Jim cupped the face with his left hand as he pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. "If I have anything to say about it, it will be."

--

9-21-08


	8. Chapter 8 And Now for Something

Title: By Design, Chapter 8

Author: Sorsha711  
Fandom/Pairing: CSI; Brass/OCF  
Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations  
Disclaimer: A quick check of my bank account should prove I'm not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh! Anything you recognize belongs to the good people that bring us CSI.  
Summary: A serial killer is stalking the streets of Vegas… hell of a time for Brass to meet the woman of his dreams.

A/N -- Sorry for the long delay in updating. RL has been insane lately! Until I win the lottery, I have to keep the day job and its been a pain the behind lately... sigh!! Thanks to all that have been reading. I'd love to hear from you... pretty please!

By Design, Chapter 8 -- And Now for Something Completely Different

--

"Have we gotten anything back on the plant spores Hodges sent out for an ID?"

Looking up to find Brass standing in the doorway of his office, Grissom motioned for him to take a seat in the guest chair opposite his. "The unknown spores were from a species of marsh grass that is indigenous to the Mississippi Delta region. Its natural habitat is a system of brackish marshes in the lower Delta close to the Gulf of Mexico. It's not a species that adapts well beyond its original ecosystem."

"We have more than a few odd plants in this town between the casinos and the high rollers that can afford exotic landscapes," the policeman observed. "If he picked it up around town, maybe we'll finally get lucky and get a solid lead on this guy."

"Maybe… if he picked it up locally," Grissom confirmed, shuffling through a stack of reports to find the one he needed. "Nick is running down exotic plant exhibits in the Vegas area… landscaping firms, specialty nurseries that might be using it. From what Tad Alexander said, it's a finicky plant that isn't particularly unusual or attractive. He thinks it's unlikely we'll find it being used as a landscape plant, especially here in the desert. I'm not expecting Nick to find anything, but we'll let you know if something turns up. I'm betting the spores were picked up somewhere along the Gulf coast."

"Damn!" Brass muttered, rubbing his neck in a distracted manner. "Evidence that leads us half-way across the country isn't likely to help find this bastard. I was hoping for something a little closer to home… rare, as in a limited area to search for the van."

"Well… our records of local flora are pretty comprehensive, so I wasn't expecting much when Hodges couldn't ID it. It does suggest that either the killer or his van spend some time along the Gulf coast within the past year or two," Grissom offered. "It may not narrow our search locally, but it may give us another means of linking the killer to our victims once we do."

"Yeah, maybe, but we need something that helps us find him," Brass complained. "All the evidence in the world isn't going to do us a damned bit of good until we do."

"True," the CSI replied. "You might try refining the van search parameters to look for any tags transferred from Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, or Texas in the past year. May give us something."

"What about Florida?"

"These spores are pretty localized in their habitat," the scientist responded. "Panhandle of Florida maybe, but the rest of the state has a different set of factors that effect conditions in their estuary systems… salinity, humidity, rainfall, pollution… a variety of factors. Same for Texas once you get past Galveston. Brackish marshes have a very delicate ecosystem, so a few changes... even minor ones, alter the environment enough to create wide-ranging variations in the mix of flora and fauna from area to area. Some plants are good at adapting, so you find them in a lot of places, but others aren't. This particular species isn't one that adapts well, so its range is limited to a very specific area."

Nodding, Brass made a note to follow-up on the transfer angle on his pad. "If our guy did move here recently, we're assuming the van has been registered in Nevada. He may not have transferred it yet… especially if he wants to keep his presence in the area off the radar. May be worth sending a bulletin to the Gulf region to see if they have any unsolved killings that match our killer's MO. It's possible he pulled up stakes and headed west… maybe to avoid a manhunt."

"Definitely worth checking," Gil agreed. "As for the rest of the plant matter we recovered, it's from species native to the southwest… a few seeds and spores that suggest he's ranging over a large area. Dr. Alexander is still working to try and get us a plant DNA match so we can narrow down our search area. His database is still in its infancy so it may take some time."

"Great… time. We have time, but his next victim may not."

--

"I'm sorry… it's just that every time he came on the stage, I kept expecting Elaine or George to show up," Casey laughed. "I know it's not fair to pigeonhole an actor with one role, but he's Peterman! Seinfeld so doesn't go with Monty Python!"

"So… you're one of those?"

Tilting her head to catch his eye, she demanded, "One of those… what?"

"A Seinfeld fan," Brass supplied, guiding her out of the Wynn's front entrance. "Our dinner reservations are in half-an-hour, so we need to hustle."

"You want us to hustle? I suddenly have visions of you striking a John Travolta pose in a cheesy white suit!" she teased, giggling at the mental image. "And, no I wasn't all that big on Seinfeld. I'm not sure I've even watched one episode all the way through… well, the architect episode, but that's about it. Is that a good or bad thing?"

"I'll have you know I looked damned good in my white suit. Back in the day, no self-respecting disco stud cruised the clubs in anything less. That movie made wearing one de rigueur, especially for a boy from Jersey," he retorted. "And, I'd say it was a very good thing. I never got why that show was so popular."

"Me either," she agreed. "I'm impressed… you used French in the same sentence as 'boy from Jersey'! That takes real skill."

"Hey… be nice!"

"Calls them as I sees them… and remember I'm the hick from the sticks, so what do I know," she joked. "Do we cross at the pedestrian bridge?"

"Yeah… the restaurant's in the Fashion Show Mall," Brass supplied. "Confess… were you a disco diva?"

That caused a snort of laughter… one that had her covering her mouth as she looked around to see who might have heard. "Sorry, Stud, but I was a little too young for the disco scene! When I was old enough to get into clubs, I was trying to be edgy so I was more a punker wannabe… with her small town roots showing. I didn't quite have the look together… but I can **so** see you owning the dance floor, Swivel Hips."

Slipping his arm around her waist to keep her close in the mob scene moving up and down the Strip, he laughed. "'Swivel Hips'??"

"Hummm… the Newark Nureyev?"

Pulling her a little closer, he chuckled. "Yeah, sure… that's more like it… except I'm straight. So… how did you like the play?"

"I loved it! My only real complaint is they used, "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life". That was from _The Life of Brian_, not _The Holy Grail_!" she complained, missing his pleased smirk.

/Got to love a woman that knows her Monty Python!/

--

"Can we confirm if the bodies found in Lincoln County are tied to our killer?"

Nodding, Catherine passed Brass a copy of the report she had been reading when he walked up. "The second body was found six weeks ago in a ditch on a rural dirt road near Crystal Springs. One of their deputies found her within a few days of the killer dumped the body, so we found trace that ties her to our killer. A hair caught in the tape residue on her neck gave us a match on the DNA from the samples recovered from semen and hair found on two of our victims."

"We have an ID yet?" Brass pressed, flipping through the report to find the portions relevant to his part of the investigation.

"No," Catherine admitted, a frustrated sigh underscoring her thoughts on that issue. "We don't have a name for either woman. The first vic was partially buried under a rock slide. Her body was mostly skeletonized by the time she was found. The second victim was a mess… animal activity had finished what the killer started. The only reason we found the trace we did was the body was crumpled in a fetal position that protected a small portion of her upper torso. If the deputy hadn't found her when he did, the body would have been picked clean in a few days."

"Lovely."

"Sorry," she offered, secretly amused by how squeamish the veteran detective still was after over thirty years on the job. "We're trying to reconstruct her skull in hopes of generating a usable rendering. The first vic's skull is intact, so we should be able to get a good likeness. Teri Miller has agreed to help us… should be here early next week."

Frowning, he asked, "Do we have usable DNA from the bodies to compare to a reference sample… assuming we get any leads?"

"Yeah, we have DNA on number 2, but it doesn't match anything in CODIS," the CSI reported. "We'll see if we can find anything useable on the first one, but don't expect much."

Handing her back the report, the detective prompted, "And the first body is definitely connected to our investigation?"

"Confirmation is still pending. Like I said, she was found first and had been out in the elements for a lot longer than the second body," she replied. "Basic review of what little we currently know about her fits. Lincoln exhumed both bodies yesterday and sent them to our morgue for a full review. Robbins has them and knows they're top priority. We should have his report… at least the prelim by tomorrow. DNA may take a while."

Sighing, Jim turned to go. "OK… keep me posted. I'll…"

"Hey, not so fast," she exclaimed, reaching out to grab his arm. "You're not going anywhere until I get some answers!"

Puzzled, Brass studied the impish sparkle that had sprung to life in her blue eyes. He had known Catherine too long not to feel a little nervous at the sight. "Answers? What case…"

"The case of the workaholic police captain seen strolling on the Strip last weekend with a beautiful woman clamped to his side… giving all the appearances of being on a date," she teased. "Since you fit the general description of the detective involved… I want the dish. Give! Who is she?"

Chuckling, Jim dodged. "CSI Willows… I'm shocked. You should know better than to accept unsubstantiated rumors as…"

"Unsubstantiated rumors my ass," she retorted. Reaching up to tap the collar of his crisp white shirt, she pointed out, "That's red lipstick on your collar… and it's not mine or Sophia's shade… and Connie's a redhead, so that color would clash with her coloring. Who is she?"

Eyebrows raised, the detective demanded, "Why would you suggest I might…"

"Until recently, the three of us were the only women you were known to associate with on a regular basis," she explained. "So… give!"

"I don't make a habit of kissing and telling, so give me one good reason why I should start now," Jim insisted, secretly pleased by her interest. It had been a long time since he'd had anyone in his life to talk about… and he liked it.

Fixing him with an assessing smirk, Catherine quipped, "I'm trying to remember the last time you did any kissing…"

"Ouch! The truth hurts! Not all of us have a fan club following us around."

"I so wish you meant me," she responded, giving a dramatic sigh. "I admit it… I'm jealous you're getting…"

"Hey!"

Laughing at the faint reddening of his features her teasing inspired, she pounced. "I'm living vicariously, so I want all the details. You so don't want me conducting an investigation into the specifics…"

Holding up his hand to halt her semi-serious threat, he grinned. "Who blabbed?"

"Who hasn't," she retorted. "It's all over the PD that a patrol unit spotted their fearless leader and some babe walking along the street near the Wynn Saturday night. Who is she?"

--

Casey paused at the door of the Peppermill. Jim stopped and looked over at her. "Case?"

"They're going to hate me."

Frowning, Jim asked, "Who do you think is going to hate you?"

"Your friends… co-workers," she moaned. "They're going to think I'm boring!"

That made Jim laugh. "There isn't a single thing boring about you, honey. Why would you worry about something like that?"

Glaring at him for laughing, she demanded, "And why wouldn't they? They're scientists and police… persons. What I do must seem so…"

"Creative? Innovative? Challenging? Fun?"

"Trivial… silly…"

Pulling her into a quick hug, Jim gave her a quick kiss before turning her back toward the door. "They've been on my ass for the past week wanting to meet you. Relax; they'll love you. How could they not?"

"Easy," she grumbled, plastering her best, 'I can conquer the world… I know I can, I know I can,' smile on her face as he opened the door and ushered her inside.

--

"So, the body count tied to our killer currently stands at eight. As we continue to dig, that number may rise," Brass completed, handing the Sheriff an updated report. "We've found two more cold cases here in Clarke and two over in Lincoln in the last week. We're going back over all the information gathered on those murders looking for anything that might give us a new lead."

Nodding, Burdick read the summary before asking, "What are you getting from the bulletins sent statewide?"

"We're sorting through a number of possibles from across the state… one over in to Arizona. Sofia and I have had a few calls from California and one from Utah that might be connected. We've eliminated a few so far, but its slow go," the detective reported.

"Damn," his boss muttered. "That's a hell of a big area to cover."

Sighing, Brass offered "It's looks like this bastard has escaped notice for so long by spreading his dump sites over a wide area, crossing numerous jurisdictional lines in the process, to throw off… or at least delay any consolidated investigation. One case on its own seems to be a single random act of violence… maybe a domestic dispute. We didn't notice the pattern until we got a second case and started finding connections between the cases."

"Usually how it works with a serial."

"Yeah," he agreed. Rubbing his neck, Jim added, "Starting to look like this may be a lot bigger than any of us suspected when we started this investigation."

Fixing his night shift commander with a hard stare, the Sherriff demanded, "What the hell does that mean?"

"I think I told you we found grass spores stuck in tape residue on several of our vics. Those spores are only found in marshes along the Gulf Coast," he reported. "I checked to see if there were any open cases in the states where that particular type of marsh grass is found. Three parishes near New Orleans and a couple of counties in Texas may have killings that fit our killer. I've requested what they have… should have it in a day or so. It's starting to look like their killer may have relocated to Vegas. We may have a trail of bodies from the Big Easy to Sin City."

--

Jim sputtered into his drink as the character of the Metatron dropped his pants to prove he wasn't a threat to the female lead in the movie they were watching. "Damn… he looks just like my old GI Joe in the equipment department!"

Casey collapsed against his side laughing. "Being a girl, he reminded me of Ken of 'Ken and Barbie' fame. Now you know why I said no man would ever claim to be an angel after seeing the movie _Dogma_!"

"At least you said my halo was held up by horns!"

"Well, we both know you're always hor…"

A kiss interrupted her quip. "That's your fault… sexy, beautiful women shouldn't have so many rules."

Reaching out to caress his check, she noted, "The Metatron was the voice of God. At least that part fits. You have a great voice."

Grinning, he leaned in to nibble the soft skin under her right ear before whispering against her throat, "Really? Does that help my cause?"

Moaning, she gasped, "Can't hurt."

--

10-4-08


	9. Chapter 9 Keyser Soze

Title: By Design, Chapter 9

Author: Sorsha_711  
Fandom/Pairing: CSI; Brass/OCF  
Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations  
Disclaimer: A quick check of my bank account should prove I'm not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh! Anything you recognize belongs to the good people that bring us CSI.  
Summary: A serial killer is stalking the streets of Vegas… hell of a time for Brass to meet the woman of his dreams.

A/M --- Sorry for the long delay in updates. My life has been a zoo for months. When I finally got back into writing, I had a brainstorm... dangerious things brainstorms. By the time I finished tweaking/editing/adding here and there... this became a long chapter but it should help round out the rest of the story. On the upside, I have a number of chapters ready to post, so updates will be more frequent! I'm planning to finish Design while I'm on a roll, but Improv will be next. Did I mention I have several other Brass stories started??? LOL, I need a keeper! I hope you enjoy the chapter. I'd love to hear from you, so feedback PLEASE!

By Design, Chapter 9 --- Keyser Soze

"_Keaton once said, 'I don't believe in God, __but I'm afraid of him.'_

_Well I believe in God, __and the only thing that scares me is _

_Keyser Soze."_

_Verbal Kint, The Usual Suspects_

-----

"OK… let's map it out," Jim instructed. "I want to walk through the timeline from when and where these women went missing to when and where we found them. There has to be some pattern… a connection or common thread… something we've missed."

"We've been though all of it a dozen times, boss," Sam Vega insisted, trading a frustrated look with the other detectives in the room. "There just isn't anything that ties all of these murders together. The victims didn't know each other… had nothing in common and the killer isn't leaving us anything to give us an ID."

"So… are we at a dead-end?" Sofia asked, voicing the question each of the others was silently asking.

Raking a stiff hand across his scalp, Brass shook his head refusing to concede the possibility. "I want to keep shifting through what we know. There's something there… I can feel it."

Settling back into his chair, Sam demanded, "OK… what's left?"

Frowning, Jim countered, "We still haven't answered the question at the heart of the investigation… how did each of these women cross paths with their killer? There has to be a pattern. It might not help us identify future victims… but it might help us know where to look for this bastard. He's a hunter and hunters have their own rules for finding their prey. We need to figure out his."

Holding up his hand to halt the flood of responses that comment generated, Brass expanded the scope of his observation. "Yeah… I know that's what we've been trying to do for weeks, but hear me out. I think the problem is we're approaching the question from the wrong angle."

"So…"

"Let's think about it this way," Jim proposed, lacing his fingers together behind his head as he let his chair tilt back. "The killer is going through his day… work, errands, routine stuff for the most part. When does it change from the everyday crap we all do to murder… or does it? Is he always hunting, grabbing any woman that has the bad luck to cross his path whenever he sees an opening?"

Frowning, Joe Vartann observed, "Defining or predicting a random act is… pretty much impossible."

Leaning forward, Sofia countered, "Random's only the victim in that scenario, but not necessarily the act itself."

Frowning, Vartann prompted, "OK, you get what Jim's saying so spell it out for the rest of us."

Catching Brass's gaze, she noted, "This bastard has been killing for a least two years that we know about and nobody remembers seeing anything that stood out. He's a goddamned ghost! That means he's careful… more than careful. He had procedures… strict rules of engagement for making a grab… nothing left to chance."

Nodding, Jim continued, "Exactly… nothing is left to chance. He has the self-control not to make mistakes… get impulsive or sloppy."

"I don't care how good or careful he is, nobody can grab this many women without being seen if it's just a spontaneous decision to grab someone," Sam interjected. "I get what you're saying, Jim. We've been trying to get a handle on him though his victims… but there's nothing obvious about why he chose them that makes sense to us. We may never know what it was that made him grab these women unless he tells us, so we have to focus on the how not the why."

"Bingo," Jim interjected, hopeful of keeping the investigation moving forward. "Instead of going over what we know, let's spell out the questions we still need to answer. For example… is it a matter of the right woman crossing his path at the wrong moment on an otherwise regular day… at a coffee shop, a dry cleaner… the dentist or does he hunt his prey? Does he make the grab then or does he mark her for 'collection' at a later time? For that matter, does he have a set time to hunt… prowl for victims? Or does he keep it more fluid… only acts when situations arise that fit his rules?"

"Set time may imply his free time is limited… that he's not able to get out of the house whenever the urge strikes… maybe doesn't have a job where he works alone so he can't make random grabs," Joe mused, filtering though the knowns from their cases for clues to support that possibility. "Our victims all went missing in the late afternoon or early evening… between 3 and 8."

"OK, good," Brass encouraged. "What else?"

"Well… like Joe said, not being able to get out of the house freely suggests commitments… maybe a family he's hiding his extracurricular activities from… a wife or girlfriend," Sofia supplied. "The day of the week they went missing has varied… mostly weekdays, but a couple were grabbed over the weekend."

"Most family men that work a standard 9 to 5 job usually have family commitments in the early evening and weekends. BTK played the devoted family man for years, hunting during the day when he was supposed to be working or at times his family wouldn't wonder where he was," Sam interjected, his observations countering those of his colleague. "I've read that most married serials tend to hunt late at night."

"So… where's that leading you?" Brass nudged.

Looking up, Vega offered, "I'm thinking this guy is single… maybe, self-employed… or someone that works on his own, not in an office. He's moving too freely during daylight hours to work 9 to5 if he has coworkers… someone that might notice his taking an interest in someone that later turns up dead… especially if that happens more than one."

"Or he could work graveyard… works when most people are sleeping, goes home and grabs a few hours rack time, then hits the streets in the late afternoon. Those hours sound a lot like ours," Jim mused before taking a sip of his coffee. "None of his grabs were after midnight or in the morning, so that fits."

"But all of the victims lead 9 to 5 lives for the most part," Sofia mused. "If he works grave, that limits the opportunities for him to have crossed paths with his victims… makes it less likely he found them through a work connection."

"Maybe… or maybe he's a client or customer. Personally, I think it reinforces the idea his play time is the normal work time for most people," Jim argued. "What do we have so far?"

"Well, it seems we're saying he's single… maybe is self-employed or works grave," Sam summarized. "That doesn't narrow it down much even if we're right."

"By itself… no, it doesn't," Brass agreed. "Let's start adding to the profile. Fiber evidence says he's wearing heavy-duty work clothing and boots… drives a utility van. Grissom says that might simply be what he wears when he kills… but, if a suit and tie kind of guy starts making a habit of going out at odd hours dressed like a mechanic… someone is bound to notice."

Nodding, Sofia translated, "So, let's stop waffling and say he works a trade, possibly self-employed. Trace found automotive fluids on the rope fiber, so a mechanic fits. Maybe that's how he's getting his hands on them and their cars. They call for a tow or need a jump for a dead battery… they fall into his hands without his having to hunt."

"Definitely a possibility we need to explore." Grabbing a pad to begin jotting down the key points, Jim noted, "I'll get Connie working on a list of towing services and 24-hour repair services to divide between us. Any other ideas?"

"He's driving a van not a tow truck... but he may be disabling their car… flat tire or something. That would explain why there weren't any records of calls for roadside assistance," Sam speculated. "Its daylight so his victims don't perceive the threat until its too late. They just think they got lucky and a good Samaritan came along when they needed one."

Pausing to run the idea against the knowns in their investigation, Brass finally nodded. "Plays as a theory, so run with it. Go back over the reports on the cars we recovered and see if there's anything to support it 'cos nothing's jumping out at me. What next?"

"We can place his van in the Gulf Coast area and we know it's an older model… 2001 to 2003. Killings here started two to three years ago… around the time Katrina devastated the region," Joe offered.

Nodding, Jim expanded on the idea. "Hell, a lot of people left to escape the storm and never went back. Our market was still blazing hot back then… so hello Vegas."

"OK. So, he's a Gulf Coast transplant, again maybe a tradesman… maybe self-employed… could work nightshift… lots of places in Vegas run 24/7," she short-handed.

"Since the economy went into a nosedive, I doubt he's an independent contractor," Sam mused. "If he's a transplant from the Gulf, he hasn't been here long enough to have a client base to keep him working. A lot of the established companies are having a tough time. I'm willing to put money on his having a job with a regular schedule… mechanic or a trades job working for an established company."

"So… you're suggesting he'd have moved on by now if he was an independent?" Jim proposed, seeing the other detective nod in agreement. "If he's single, nothing to hold him here… yeah, I can buy that. Someone single working the graveyard shift is really starting to feel right."

"OK, but it would help if we had some idea of what makes him decide to grab one particular woman and not the hundreds of others that cross his path everyday," Vartann mused, rising from his seat to begin pacing as he let the possibilities filter through his mind. "We're ruled out the obvious… at least the ones that seem obvious to me."

"OK," Jim nudged. "What is it that flips his switch and makes him grab THAT particular woman?"

"I'm out of ideas, but have you talked to Dr. Kane recently?" Joe asked, pausing to look back at his supervisor. "We need him to refine his original profile… see what he thinks of ours. If he says it's valid, be nice if he could flesh it out and give us some ideas for places our killer may frequent… clues to his patterns or places he'd avoid… that sort of thing."

Nodding in agreement, Jim added a follow-up with the LVPD's shrink to his list. "I spoke to Phil a week ago… right after we got confirmation on the DB in Arizona. He said he was going to talk to a colleague with the FBI at Quantico… pull in someone he knows over at WLVU. I'll feed him the latest and see what they've got. Good… what else?"

Sofia offered, "We can add in a few basics… most serial killers are white males… usually a troubled childhood, probably abused animals… other children… so odds are good he'll at least have a juvie record. He gets off on rape and torture, so simply killing isn't enough."

"Right," Sam confirmed. "We can assume he has an IQ at or above average… his ability to kill and not be caught… leave little or no trace… the crime scenes support that conclusion. He's familiar with police procedures… forensics. Kane suggested he might have even tried to become a cop at some point… was kept out by a prior record or he failed the psyche screening."

Jim picked up with, "We've said it before, but… he's somebody that doesn't stand out in a crowd or make himself an obvious suspect in the minds of our victims' friends and relatives… probably a loner, but he may be able to pass as normal to such an extent people think he's a choirboy... not a threat."

"He's grabbing women off the street and nobody… NOBODY, remembers seeing anything that aroused their suspicions," Joe groused. "Like you said… the why is something unique to him… and his fantasy is all about inflicting pain and killing… the victim may only have to be female. He prowls until he finds a woman he can grab cleanly and dumps the body in a rural area once he's done."

Propping his feet up on the corner of his desk, Jim mused, "Prowling, then grabbing a random woman because she seems vulnerable… that seems way too impulsive for someone as meticulous as this guy. Impulsive grabs are usually messy. So, unless Sofie is right and this guy is really a ghost, he's not so much hunting as stalking his victims… has a plan and his game is so tight he's somehow managing to make his grabs and not be seen."

"Since we don't know where some of them were grabbed, I'm willing to bet we just haven't found a witness. Somebody saw something but doesn't realize it yet," Joe countered. "Hunting implies selection, so that tells me we should see a pattern to his methods at least. Until we nail down all the grab sites, we're shooting in the dark."

"Why is that? That's the thing that's eating at me. Why can't we nail down all the grab sites or how he's doing it?" Jim inserted, swinging his legs down so he could face the other detectives across his desk. "We've managed to narrow the time frame when most of our victims were snatched to pretty small windows of opportunity. For almost all of them, they were last seen leaving one point on their daily routine and heading for the next. He had to know their habits well enough that he could position himself to make the grab quickly, efficiently… and, more importantly, quietly."

Sam observed, "If his game is really that tight, maybe he's doing both… hunting for the most part, but he has the skills to make a grab if the mood or opportunity strikes. That's why we can't nail down the where and how."

"OK, but how did his game get this tight this quickly?" Joe prompted.

"He arrived with his skills already honed," Sofia suggested. "Have we been able to confirm if the murders down in the New Orleans area are tied to our killer yet?"

"Grissom says he'll have the final results in the next day or two, but it looks like the same killer," Brass replied. "CSI's still sorting through the evidence from NOPD to compare to what we've found. Hopefully, I'll have an update before tomorrow's briefing."

-----

Scanning the crowded room for anyone they might have missed, Casey leaned closer to Jim's ear to whisper, "We don't have to stay much longer. We've made the rounds and talked to my clients… schmoozed all the likely potentials. You've said hello to the Sheriff and his cronies, so you're covered. We can eat or leave and grab a bite somewhere before you have to report… whichever you want."

Jim caught his lower lip between his teeth in an attempt to keep from laughing at her barely concealed desire to flee the mob scene at the gala they were attending… one that was raising money for the pediatric wing at the Desert Palms Hospital. /She wasn't joking when she said she feels awkward at large gatherings. I think she's two steps from making a dash for the nearest exit!/

Smirking at the thought, he murmured back, "You're the one that hates these things, remember? I'm kind of enjoying the reactions we're getting… Beauty and the…"

"Hey, I resent being called the Beast!"

Laughing, Jim shook his head. "Forgive me for being unclear… you're Beauty to my…"

"Jersey Boy?" she completed, sending a non-committal smile in the direction of a real estate agent that was desperately trying to get a toe-hole in the sales at _Celebration. _Seeing an opening in a line of people flowing in the opposite direction, she caught Jim's hand and pulled him along hoping to avoid the man and another round of boring social chit-chat. She felt rather than saw Jim's amusement at her dodge.

Chuckling, he whispered against her ear, "Beauty and the Jersey boy? Works for me."

Pleased by the shiver of awareness that rippled through her body as his warm breath ghosted across her throat, he nudged her toward the center of the room where towering floral and ice sculpture displays could be seen over the top of the crowd. "Let's hit the buffet. I've seen some monster shrimp going by that look pretty damned good."

"Want me to slip some in my purse for your lunch… maybe a few cheese puffs?"

"Works for me, but I don't want to be greedy… a few dozen shrimp, maybe a few slices of that standing rib roast. I can make a sandwich if you get me enough," he retorted, laughing at her rolling eyes.

"Is that all, your majesty?"

Smirking, he added, "Something sweet would be nice… a slice of chocolate cake… a few of those mini tarts… whatever you can fit into your purse. A little sugar boost always helps around 4 in the morning."

Holding up her small metallic clutch, she lamented, "I knew I should have brought my backpack and Tupperware."

Jim shook his head in mock regret. "Next time you need to plan better. Just slide the shrimp into my pockets when nobody's looking… easy on the cocktail sauce. I start dripping and somebody at the station will think I'm bleeding."

"Yuck… what a mental image! You just said that so I'd leave all the shrimp for you!" Casey complained as she handed him a plate. "This does look good. I'm starving. I had a meeting with a new client this morning that ran long. I had to skip lunch to make a meeting with Brad Harvin and his senior people that are in town for the gala."

"Speaking of… who was the guy that was giving me the evil eye while you were talking to Harvin?" Jim asked, studying a platter of finger sandwiches as he tried to decide what they contained. "Who had the bright idea of cucumber sandwiches? It's a waste of good bread not to pile on the meat."

"Carnivore!" Pausing with a spoonful of chicken salad half-way to her plate, she demanded, "Who gave us the evil eye?"

Tilting his head in the direction of a group of men talking by a large splashing fountain, he gave a slight nod in the direction of one of the men. "Not us, me. The man in the light grey suit… slick-backed salt-& pepper hair talking to Sy Magli."

Following his line of sight as they moved to another station, she gave a faint growl. "Figures. That's Bob Lawrence… Harvin's Senior VP for Land Acquisitions."

Pausing to let a chef add a helping of sizzling shrimp stir-fry to his plate, he repeated, "Figures?"

"Yeah… why he still has to come to these things is beyond me… we have all the land we need for the project, so his current role is sideline cheerleader… or resident pain in the ass," she complained, studying the section of sushi carefully before beginning to make her choices. "He thinks he's God's gift. There isn't any real reason for him to keep coming to these things… other than he's a suck-up that can't stand to have Brad out of his sight for more than a few minutes."

"Know the type… Gil has one of those working in the lab," Jim offered.

Nodding, she complained, "He's so terrified someone will get between his lips and Brad's ass he accompanies Brad and Janet whenever they travel on business."

"Brad and Janet?" Jim grinned. "You're joking? That's really Harvin's wife's name?"

"Yep… time warp and all," she retorted, chuckling softly. "Just don't say that to one of them! They stopped thinking that was funny ages ago!"

"No doubt," Brass agreed, once again struck by how alike their senses of humor were, "but, I'm not responsible if I hear him say, '_Damnit, Janet'_… OK?"

That made her laugh. Cutting her eyes at him, she murmured, "I have to ask… did you go to _Rocky Horror_ in your professional capacity or in costume? You would look so cute as Frankie!"

"Perish the thought!" Jim responded, giving a mock shudder. "I went once while I was still walking a beat to break up a fight. I went back on my day off to see what the deal was. I've caught it a few times since on cable… but I think I'm more the Eddie type. Corsets just don't flatter my figure."

"There's a mental image!" Studying the rest of the options, she observed, "That roast does look good… want some?"

"Yeah… if they have any left that's not blood rare," Jim agreed. "I lost my appetite for rare a long time ago… one too many crime scene."

Sending him a glare, she noted, "First you try to gross me out over the shrimp, now the roast! See if I smuggle you out anything. You're on your own, smartie."

After they had completed their selections and were seated at a table well away from the main flow of the gala's other guests, he resumed their conversation. "So… this Lawrence guy… his being a suck-up doesn't explain why he was giving me the evil eye. What was behind that?"

Sighing, she toyed with an eel roll before admitting, "He's originally from New York… remembered all the gossip over my divorce. When he started with Harvin, he decided I was part of his compensation package… came on way too strong… wouldn't take no for an answer. I was about to walk when Brad got wind of what was happening… made it clear to Lawrence that, while he was good, he was replaceable; I wasn't. Lawrence backed off quickly and keeps his distance, but… he gives off a weird vibe whenever I see him… like he's just waiting for an opening."

A lethal gleam sprang to life in Brass's blue eyes. Raking the crowd for the man in question, he demanded, "Has he threatened you?"

Her hand reached over to cover his. "No… I didn't mean it like that. It's more he thinks Brad will get tired of me and he'll make his move. I think he has me pegged as Brad's mistress… I obviously can't be a real architect, right?"

"Does Harvin…"

"I don't know if Brad's come to that conclusion or not… but Janet has," she supplied. "We've talked. She can't stand him either, but the guy is a master of putting together complicated deals. As long as he's performing…"

"Yeah, I get it," Jim growled. "At least Harvin made it clear you have top billing. My opinion of him just went up."

"Jim… I really appreciate that you're in my camp, but… that kind of crap is something I've had to deal with since… well, since I was stupid enough to get involved with my boss," she soothed. "I'm pretty good at handling it… but its nice having your support. OK?"

Sighing, he nodded. "I just hate…"

A warm smile lit her face as she leaned over to give him a quick kiss. "Thank you."

An off-center grin accompanied, "Augh, shucks, ma'am… twernt nothing."

"That so doesn't work with a Jersey ascent!" she teased, wanting to reestablish a lighter mood at their table.

With a wink, he went back to his food. After a moment, he asked. "So… this wasn't too bad was it? This spread makes the social chit-chat worth the effort."

"Speak for yourself, Capt. You're the one that wanted to stay and eat. I had other appetites I wanted to feed," she retorted, grinning at the sudden widening of his eyes as her quip hit home. "I suggested leaving if I remember correctly."

A slightly husky chuckle preceded, "Oh no, you don't! You just wanted to go home to your jammies, not…"

"No one has ever told you rescuing a damsel in distress pays big dividends??" she countered, fluttering her lashes.

Shaking his head, he muttered, "You're so bad!'

"Pot meet kettle," Casey quipped.

A shrug of his shoulders joined an amused smirk as he joked, "I'll let that one pass since I have to be on my best behavior. I want you to keep inviting me to these things."

Leaning over to steal a shrimp off of his plate, she grinned. "Oh, you can come to as many of these damned things you like. In fact, my master plan is to introduce you to all of my clients so you can make the rounds for me and I can stay quietly at home. What? Sounds like a plan to me!"

"Sorry, but Jersey Boy doesn't like working a room solo. He prefers having Beauty at his side," Jim countered.

"Woowho, good line! That may get you all the way to second base!"

"Great… at this rate, I may still be young enough to crawl across home plate," he complained. "Just how many dates did…"

-----

"So… has Gil been able to finish the review the evidence from New Orleans yet?" Ray O'Riley asked.

"Yeah… I got the reports a couple of hours ago… copies are saved to a new folder in the main file. According to Gil, a degraded semen sample was recovered on one of their vics… a Pauline McSwain," Jim responded. "They pulled her body out of the… Bayou Segnette near New Orleans almost four years ago. The killer dumped her over the side of a bridge on a back road cutting across the swamp, but she was caught in some brush and didn't drop into the water."

"Did the DNA match the sample from our doer?"

Sighing, Brass hedged. "She'd been out there for a while…the body was largely intact, but it was exposed to the elements too long for them to get a complete sequence. Their lab was only able to extract a partially strand of DNA which is **consistent** with the samples we're recovered. 75%'s the best they can say."

"So… that's a strong maybe on the cases being linked to ours?"

"They're linked," Brass asserted. "That's all the DNA they had, but some of the other evidence matches ours. The most significant involves an Econoline van. Based on when that fiber evidence began to show up on their vics, Gil says the van is a 2001."

"Well, that's something," Sofia commented, adding the information to her notes. "That narrows down the number of vans we need to finish checking… assuming he's transferred the title."

"Hell of a big assumption at this point," Vega complained.

Nodding in agreement, Joe asked, "Is there anything in their files that will help us find this bastard?"

"Unfortunately, we have more than they do. Until we called, they hadn't realized the full extend of his kills… had no idea about the ones in Texas… the three in Mississippi."

Sitting a little straighter, Sofia exclaimed, "Mississippi? When did we get hits there?"

"Stow the complaints… I'm just getting this too. All we have so far are their reports; CSI is still going over the evidence they sent," Brass responded, raking a tired hand across his scalp. "There were two bodies found near Gulfport… another near Natchez. Frankly, the detective I've been talking to down in New Orleans says there are probably more bodies they never found given the MO… alligators and swamps make it pretty easy to dispose of a body… damp conditions play hell on evidence."

"Add in Katrina," Sofia interjected, slumping back into her seat. "A lot of people got washed into the marshes and rivers… others were just washed away. By the time they found them… COD is a tough call. Got to be tough distinguishing storm victims from murder victims if the body had been out there for a while."

"Exactly what he told me," Jim sighed. "They know they may never get a solid count but they're still digging through old cases across the region looking for possibles. Their cold case units are working it hard… will probably send someone out here next week to review our case files… look over our shoulders."

"So… other than the fact that this guy has been doing this for a while, those cases aren't telling us much?" Sam summarized.

Grimacing, Jim offered, "Not a lot. Beyond what I've already told you about the van, the only other major piece of information so far is Robbins noted a significant change in his MO."

"And that is?"

Referring to his notes, Jim offered, "According to the autopsies, most of our victims sustained heavy, blunt force trauma to the face and head **post-mortem**… it wasn't part of his torture ritual. The bodies along the Gulf didn't exhibit the same damage."

"So, he's saying the level of violence has escalated between here and New Orleans?" Sofia pressed.

"Let's be careful here. The blunt-force trauma he's noting occurred **post-mortem**," Brass stressed. "Doc Robbins says the autopsy files from the Gulf Coast murders show the pre-mortem brutality escalated in the same way we've seen with our vics… but none of them exhibited any significant post-mortem damage associated to the killer."

"So… what we thought was a killer becoming more violent as his appetite grew wasn't necessarily part of his twisted fantasy… or whatever the hell it is that drives him?" Sam pressed.

Blowing out an exasperated breathe, Brass confirmed, "The level of violence pre-mortem seems to ramp up with each kill. Their last known… a Tulane student named Josie Renaldo, exhibited the worst injuries. That pattern is consistent with what we've seen locally. The difference is in the way he treats the body before he dumps it."

"So… what's this telling us?" Sam demanded.

"Gil thinks the addition of the post-mortem damage began as a response to the environmental conditions… a desert versus a swamp," Brass offered. "While animal activity and the elements can ravage a body left in the desert, most bodies dumped in a swamp are never found. Smash the face and head… even if we find the remains, its tough to ID a body is you can't reconstruct the face."

"So… he shatters their skulls and hopes the animals… elements do the rest of the work for him," Sofia summarized.

"That was Robbins conclusion."

"So… doesn't dumping the bodies where we can find them undermine his game plan?" Joe asked, flinging down his pad as his frustration got the better of him.

Looking up to meet the hard stares of his team, Brass reported, "I spoke with Dr. Kane at length this after morning… that's why I was late, and showed him the latest reports. He thinks the killer is starting to like his own press. In the past, his kills were reported… if they were reported, as isolated cases. He's now in the bigs… so Phil thinks he kept his new MO and started playing the 'catch me if you can' game."

"No surprise there," Sofia complained. "We've been saying that for weeks."

"Yeah, but Phil gets to add a D_R in front of his name, so people tend to take his conclusions more seriously," Jim agreed, sharing the frustration of his team. "He also says… and this is new, that he thinks the pattern we've been looking for is in the violence itself."

Startled, Sofia sat forward. "Come again?"

"Odd you should put it that way," Jim muttered. "Given the murders involve rape, we've always assumed the killings stem from some sick fantasy or twisted sexual perversion… he gets off on torture."

"Yah… so…" Vartann prompted.

"He thinks each attack, each kill is a part of a bigger obsession. Kane says the kills are emotionally linked. The first kill wets his appetite, but the level of violence is controlled. Each kill after that builds on the first… becomes more violent… maybe more satisfying for him," Jim explained. "Whatever drives him to kill ramps up each time… the need for the kill, the need for the violence escalating until it consumes him. The time between attacks shrinks and the violence gets worse until he reaches… some sick, twisted equivalent of a climax."

"Then…"

Dropping back into his chair, Brass concluded, "The shrinks think he stops for a time… maybe even moves to a new city thinking its all behind him… the need, the pleasure. Whether its guilt or he simply thinks he can't top the rush of the last one, who knows. But the need is who he is… so the desires come back… consume him and… it all starts again. Only this time…"

When he failed to finish his comment, Sofia demanded, "Only this time… what?"

"What it takes to get him to this emotional climax… is more violence… more kills… just more. And he won't… can't stop." Staring at the ceiling, Jim whispered, "Phil says any lingering shred of humanity or sense of control he might normally exercise is completely suppressed by this point and his only focus is his next victim… or the one that will take him over the top."

A heavy silence blanketed the room as the group of detectives sat in silence for several seconds. "So… either we get him or" Sam summarized, "… he kills until he gets his literal and figurative rocks off…"

"_And like that… poof. He's gone*_… our own Keyser 'fucking' Soze."

---

A/N - *quote from the movie, _The Usual Suspects_.

3/25/2009


	10. Chapter 10 The Captain and the Naughty

Title: By Design, Chapter 10

Author: Sorsha_711  
Fandom/Pairing: CSI; Brass/OCF  
Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations  
Disclaimer: A quick check of my bank account should prove I'm not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh! Anything you recognize belongs to the good people that bring us CSI.  
Summary: A serial killer is stalking the streets of Vegas… hell of a time for Brass to meet the woman of his dreams.

By Design, Chapter 10 --- The Captain and the Naughty Delivery Girl

-----

"If he's a customer of their employers… or has a business connection that brought him in contact with his victims, it's possible he's still going to the places where they worked. He may even get a perverse thrill out of going back… remembering what he did to them," Vartann speculated. "Maybe we need to cross-reference client lists."

The investigation into the Roadside Stranger case had entered its fourth month without any significant break. The team of detectives working the case met each morning as the graveyard shift yielded the watch to days to discuss tactics and update each other of new information. Answering Brass's list of unanswered questions had become their primary focus.

"I doubt the dentist is going to share his patient list without a court order," Jim observed, "and a deli isn't likely to have one."

"Yeah, same with the dry cleaner," Joe grumbled, before adding, "but they would have regular suppliers… deliveries, that sort of thing. I know we've been down that road, but we need to go back and cross-check the list against companies that we can link to the other places this guy has hit now that we have the files from the Gulf. Some of these companies are national. Killer could be a transfer."

"Good point."

"A real estate company isn't likely to do business with a restaurant supplier," Sam pointed out. "We've tried to pin down the services they would all use… UPS, Fed-X… an accountant… nothing popped."

"Since the killer is wearing heavy-duty work clothes… and he's driving a utility style of van, we need to see if any of these businesses had any repair work done before the victim was grabbed… maybe HVAC or plumbing… electrical… remodeling work. Add in work at their homes… hell adjacent businesses if they're close enough for someone to spot one of our vics," Jim ordered. "We need to look at utility crews… include city work crews in the area."

"The dentist's office where Cecelia Chambers worked was in a new strip mall," Sam offered, flipping through his notes. Tapping the pad to underscore he had found what he was looking for, he added, "They moved into their suite of offices less than two months before Cecelia was killed. Part of that complex was still under construction… a few of the units were being remodeled for the tenants, so there were plenty of work crews in the area."

"The insurance agency where Angie worked is in an older part of town," Sofia mused. "I don't recall seeing much construction activity in the area when I did the canvas, but I do remember there was a street crew working down the street… repairing a water or sewer line. The traffic was snarled and I had to cut down an alley to get to the scene… wasted a lot of the morning waiting for people stuck in traffic. Anyway, I'll double-check… I can't remember the details."

"Tina was in real estate so she was in and out of a lot of places where construction was occurring," Jim added. "The house she was supposed to show the day she disappeared was next door to a construction site. I talked to the foreman… got a list of the workers on his crew, but nothing popped. I followed-up on the subcontractors… nothing, but I have all those names for comparison."

"Utilities?"

"No, but that shouldn't be too hard to nail down," he observed, adding the utilities angle to his list of follow-ups. "I talked to the pool man and the landscaping firm that takes care of the lawn; anybody I found associated with either house had alibis."

Looking up to fix them each with a stern stare, he ordered, "Let's follow this angle hard. I want each of you to shake the trees, beat the bushes, whatever it takes… see what pops. We'll compare notes in a few days and look for anything in common."

"If it would help, I can following up on Sam's idea about the client list angle for the ones that would have one… the dentist, the insurance agency, the cleaning company," Sofia offered, knowing from experience that type of inquiry was easier for someone working days. "If we can find names they all of them have in common… it's more than we have now."

"Thanks. I'll talk to the DA and see what he can come up with to help you get those lists. I'll call you once I have a warrant," Brass agreed, jotting down notes on their discussion. "What else?"

"Sanders and I followed up the possibility the killer's sabotaging their cars to give him an opening to get close and grab them," Sam offered. "Both Cecelia Chambers' car, a '02 red Corolla, and Lindsey Plano's… a '94 blue Wrangler, had broken rear headlights. No broken glass was recovered near either car, so we initially assumed the damage wasn't relevant to their disappearance."

"What about the other cars?" Brass demanded, his pulse jumping at the news they may have their first real clue of how the killer managed to grab his victims.

"Well, we don't have that many to work with, but Jackie Miley's '02 Escort had been keyed along the entire driver's side," he offered. "Donna Paulson drove a '06 Honda Civic. It had a dead battery… lights left on in the employee parking lot at the Bellagio. Leann Sullivan drove a'98 Pontiac Grand Prix… it had a dent on the rear driver's side door. There wasn't any sign of rust or oxidation on the metal around the dent, so Sanders says it hadn't been there too long before her death."

Looking up to meet his supervisor's gaze, Vega concluded, "All of these cars are older models… this type of damage is pretty common, but I think it's a strong likelihood the damage is tied to their abductions."

"Yeah," Brass agreed, "…that's not a coincidence that I'm not willing to ignore. Check for incident reports involving women… late teen's to early 30's with complaints of minor vandalism to their cars. Maybe someone got a bad vibe… had a close encounter of the creepy type with our killer and filled a report."

"Creepy guys hitting on pretty women… that could be a long list," Sam observed, as he made a note to follow-up on those reports, "…this is Vegas."

"That's a safe bet," Jim agreed. "Let me know what you get. We can refine the search if we have to, but let's leave it wide open for now. Once you have a list, I'll find you some help running down the women that filed the reports. This gets priority since its one of the best leads we've got."

Seeing his detective nod, Jim prompted, "Other ideas?"

"Maybe we can set-up surveillance… get a line on patrons frequenting some of the businesses that get a lot of walk-in trade," Sofia mused. "The deli and the coffee shop would be the best since they are the most likely places for him to go regularly and they aren't close enough to get a lot of cross traffic. If we can get a camera in place at both, we might get lucky."

"Good idea," Brass agreed. "I'll talk to Grissom and see what he can arrange."

-----

"Capt. Brass?"

Looking over at the intercom on his desk, Jim frowned as his concentration was broken. "Yes?"

"There's a lady at the front desk to see you… a Ms. Edgers," the front desk receptionist replied, curiosity clearly coloring her voice. "She says she brought you lunch."

A grin transformed his tired continence at this bit of unexpected news. "Send her back, Alice."

Rising to walk down the hall to meet her, Jim felt some of the strain and stress of orchestrating the activities of the growing investigation ease at the news of her unexpected visit. Several cold cases in other jurisdictions had also been linked to their investigation, verification pending further review. The Sheriff had established a task force to track their killer with Brass as the lead detective. Since they were working the most recent murders, the other jurisdictions had agreed to accept his leadership. That didn't mean there hadn't been turf issues and personality clashes. He had worked more than a few doubles recently trying to keep all of the members of the task force moving in the right direction.

Sadly, he had also been forced to cancel several dates with Casey over the past couple of weeks. Between his schedule and hers, he had more than met her original 'date quota' without breakfast being on the agenda… breakfast after a night spent in one of their beds, not when they met before she went to work and he went home to crash for a few hours. Make-out sessions in the front seat of his car were hardly satisfying at this point in his life.

Her surprising him with 'lunch' at 3 in the morning meant a lot. The early hour on Saturday morning meant she would be sleeping well into the afternoon once she got home. That was her cleaning the house and running errands time each week, so he knew she would be scrambling for the rest of the weekend. /I've never met anyone as organized and efficient as she is!/

A smile warmed his face as he saw her round the corner and walk toward him, smirking at the curious looks being turned in her direction. The kiss he greeted her with no doubt answered some of those silent questions… then, raised twice as many. He could hear the gossip starting… /That's Brass' woman??? She's a total babe!!! How did he snag her?/

Once he had reluctantly released her lips, she grinned. "I thought you might be hungry since you missed dinner."

"Oh, I'm hungry… but the break room may not be the best place to discuss all of those appetites," he whispered against her ear.

"Behave, Captain. You need to set a good example," she teased, before walking past him down the hall.

His amused laughter followed her progress… causing her to come to an abrupt halt as the fact that she didn't know the way to the break room suddenly occurred to her. Looking back, she demanded, "Well… little help here."

Still laughing, he moved to her side and took the bags from her hand. "This way, Beauty."

Curling her hands into the curve of his arm… making no effort to hide the possessive quality of her touch, she purred, "Oh, I love a man that takes charge."

"Glad to hear it," he responded, energized by her touch and the proprietary attitude it conveyed. Hefting the bags, Jim asked, "How much food did you bring?"

Smiling she offered, "I didn't know who might be around and hungry, so I brought extra. I didn't want to get sent to the Captain's office for not bringing enough for everybody. Delivery girls have to be careful about things like that."

Tilting his head to catch her gaze, he complained, "The Captain might have enjoyed dealing with a trouble making delivery girl."

"Maybe, but the Captain has an office surrounded by glass walls," Casey observed. "Delivery girls are modest and don't like an audience."

"Neither does the Captain," he agreed, with a sigh.

Her soft, "Maybe it's time for the Captain and the delivery girl to discuss doing something about that… running off somewhere without windows, watchers, or work," teased at his ears, causing a rush of arousal to flow through his veins.

Clearing his throat… then clearing it again, he murmured, "Does the delivery girl have any suggestions for the details… you know the where, when… can they leave right now?"

"Sorry… the LVPD frowns on its officers leaving mid-shift looking for a windowless room for a little personal time. That's not what they mean by public service." Squeezing his arm, she offered, "Let's fix our lunch and then we can make some plans, Captain. I think a weekend trip so you can rest and relax is in order. You've been working too hard lately and need some down time."

"Works for me… although resting and relaxing aren't at the top of my 'things to do' list."

"Umm… tell me more…"

-----

"I heard from my buddy over at the Cyber-Crimes Task Force," Jim announced, as he took a seat at the conference table. "They found several auction lots on various online auction sites that fit our list of missing personal effects."

Grissom opened the folder Brass slid in his direction. "Can we tie those sales to our crime scenes?"

Shrugging his shoulders, he hedged, "I'm feeling optimistic but we still need you to work your magic. I've made a couple of calls to the police in the jurisdictions where the items were sent asking their help in recovering them for us. I told them we would return any item cleared from involvement in our case at our expense."

"They need to try and get the buyers not to report our investigation to the auction sites until we track our guy down," Gil urged. "Last thing we need is for someone to tip him off we're on to his selling the stolen items."

"I made that point as strongly as I could," Brass confirmed. "The Sheriff and DA are making some calls to their counterparts asking for their help in reinforcing the message."

Leaning over to look at the list, Catherine asked, "What do we have to work with? Anything we that give us a print or a DNA sample?"

"Couple of the missing pieces of jewelry… one that's got to be Cecelia's cross from the inscription… ring that sounds like the one Angie Simmons was wearing," Gil listed. "A Zune… a couple of laptops… Coach handbag. Three sellers, all with Vegas addresses selling this exact list if goods… sounds promising. Do we have a lead on the seller?"

"The Cybercops tried to trace the seller using his account info," Jim offered. "He's using email addresses from sites like Yahoo and Hotmail, so we can't tie him to a physical address. IP traces on those accounts show he accessed the web from cyber cafes and library terminals. Nothing so far that helps us find him, but they're still looking."

"Some of those places should have surveillance cameras," Gil suggested.

"I've already requested the tapes. Given how long its been since the last time he used those accounts, not likely they'd still have the footage," Brass complained, "but, still worth the effort. Maybe we'll finally get lucky."

"We're definitely overdue for a few breaks," the CSI agreed.

Looking up from the report, Catherine noted, "It looks like he used private mailbox services rather than the Post Office for his transactions… only accepted money orders. Do any of the three vendors have any more items up for sale? If they do, maybe we can stake-out the mail box around the time he'd be picking up a payment… better yet, make a buy and trace the transaction."

"Sorry, no," Brass replied. "It looks like he posts an auction lot to end the same day under one vendor name and never uses that ID a second time. Until we find an open sale that fits our missing items, nothing to watch… but they are still looking… maybe we'll have something in a day or two. I'll keep you posted. Bill Griggs is my contact, so he may give you a call once he gets a line on where the money orders were cashed."

"We need to print those mailboxes even if he's closed the account," Gil added. "We might find a print. I doubt he wore gloves… too likely to call unwanted attention his way. Nobody wears gloves in Vegas this time of year."

"Right… I'll get a warrant."

Pointing to the list, Catherine asked, "Will the recovered items be sent directly to us or to you?"

"I gave them your address… no need to slow things up. Unfortunately, we have no way of knowing how many people have handled them since they were taken from the victims, so why risk adding any further contamination to the mix." Sipping from his coffee cup, Jim asked, "You think we'll get anything useable?"

Shrugging his shoulders, it was Gil's turn to hedge. "Depends on how good a job the killer and the purchaser did in wiping down the surfaces whether we'll find anything. DNA is our best shot… but getting a match to even one of our victims is probably the best we can hope for."

"At this point, I'd be happy to get that. You think our guy's too smart to have left us anything to tie him to the stolen items?" Jim asked, leaning back in his chair.

"I'm not prepared to rule that out, but I'm more concerned with the buyer innocently destroying evidence trying to sterilize their purchase… you buy used jewelry you're going to clean it before you wear it," Grissom qualified. "I don't want to raise the bar too high until we see what we get."

"Archie and Greg finished installing the last of the surveillance equipment this morning," Catherine inserted into the sudden silence. "They have cameras set up inside the deli and the coffee shop, as well as at all entrances. We decided to add the dry cleaner… the cameras set at the front entrance and the door into a rear alley angled to catch the foot traffic at a whole-in-the-wall burger joint next door. Maybe our guy saw Libby on a burger run. We thought it was worth the effort."

"How are they going to check the videos?"

"Archie has the video feeds filtering through photo-recognition software that will… hopefully, spot common faces, as well as, possible matches to known felons," she replied. "Keep your fingers crossed we get something."

"And get it soon. Based on the time between kills, time is running out for his next victim and we have no idea who this bastard is or where he'll strike next."

-----

"What we got?"

Looking up, Sofia nodded in greeting to Brass as she flipped open her pad to run though the information she had compiled on their latest case. "I got the call just after mid-day… DB in a ditch off a dirt road north of the City… female, early 30's… obvious signs of torture… vic appears to have been manually strangled… severe trauma to her head and face."

"Damn!"

Sighing, Sofia nodded in agreement as she completed her report. "She was nude… stripped of all personal effects… appears to have been raped. Results from the SAE are still pending. Based on what we've determined at this point, I think we have another Strangler victim."

Moving closer to get a better look at the body of a young woman with long brunette hair lying on the prep table at the Coroner's Office, Brass prompted, "We got a name yet?"

"Robin Gifford… she has a tattoo of a Celtic knot on her right ankle. That matched a detail in a missing persons report filed by her husband last Thursday," the younger detective replied. "He just left after making the ID… brought us her hair and tooth brushes so we can run DNA to verify. Her face is a mess, but he says it's her. Pretty broken up… she was three months pregnant."

"Damn!" he repeated, struggling to contain his growing frustration and focus on the case.

"Yeah."

Running a stiff hand across his face in a manner that betrayed his frustration, he pressed, "What do we know about her… age, profession…? Was he able to give you much?"

"Like I said, he's pretty broken up, so it wasn't much beyond the basics." Looking back at her notes, Sofia supplied, "She was 33… a graphic designer at a local advertising firm. Her husband's name is Cory, also 33. He's a pilot for Southwestern Air. He was out of town on a three day haul to the east coast when she disappeared."

"You had a chance to confirm his story?"

"I talked to the detective that took the missing persons report last week; he'd verified his story," she recounted. "According to Alvarez, Robin dropped their son off at a birthday party around 3. The other boy's mother called Cory… he was in Atlanta at the time, when Robin didn't come back to pick their son up by 6:30. Robin was supposed to have been there by 5:30 when the party ended… she wasn't answering her phone."

"Repeated calls to her cell phone and to their home went unanswered. Cory called a neighbor around 7 who checked the house… he didn't see anything to suggest Robin was home… her car wasn't in the drive, she didn't come to the door," the female detective listed, flipping ahead in her notes. "Nobody remembered seeing or talking to her after 4:15, maybe 4:30 that afternoon. A couple of people remembered seeing her running errands a little earlier… drugstore, art supply store… bank, then nothing. Cory called in the report just before 8 that night… flew back the next morning."

"So, he has a solid alibi?"

"I haven't had time to double-check his story, but Alvarez seems to have verified a lot of this within the first 24 hours… witness statements, copies of his flight logs, copies of phone and bank records," she replied. "There wasn't any sign of a struggle at the home; her car is still missing… a white Volvo station wagon. BOLA was issued on the car last Friday by missing persons."

Flipping a page, she continued. "No out-going activity on her cell after 3:53… she called to her office to talk with her boss, then nothing. The last call she took was at 4:03 from her doctor's office to confirm an appointment the next day… then, a bunch of incoming beginning at 4:46 that went unanswered, including over twenty from her husband and parents. Cory was in Atlanta and they live in Seattle. The notes indicate the messages became increasingly frantic as the night went on."

"Yeah… I can imagine."

"There hasn't been any activity on her bank or credit card accounts since she made a deposit at 4:17… the bank was the last confirmed sighting," she concluded. "I'll let you know if anything changes the timeline, but it looks like she was grabbed sometime between 4:17 and 4:50. With that short a window, I'm hoping someone saw something."

Sighing, Brass turned to leave as the day shift coroner arrived to begin the post. The last thing he needed was to witness another autopsy. "Who's processing the evidence?"

"I called Gil as soon as I got to the dump sight and realized she was probably tied to the Strangler," Sofia answered. "He cleared it with Conrad… processed the scene with Catherine and Greg. They may have something before you got off in the morning."

Pushing open the door to the hall, he took a deep breath to clear his lungs of the smell of death. "Keep me posted. I'll head over to the lab and see if they have anything."

-----

Another three weeks passed without any new cases in the Roadside Strangler case, although cases in several other Nevada counties and one across the state line in Arizona had been tied to the monster they were tracking. Grissom's team had been able to link Robin Gifford to the killer through several key pieces of evidence. The parallel investigation along the Gulf Coast had turned up three more possibles that fit the killer's MO, but they lacked the physical evidence to make a conclusive link possible. Even if he excluded them from the tally, their body count was now well into double digits.

The task force had been working long hours, but Brass knew they weren't any closer to finding the killer than they had been a month earlier. He hadn't managed more than a few hours of sleep strung together for weeks, the knowledge that it was only a matter of time before the Strangler struck again kept his mind churning even as his body demanded rest.

The strain had only been exacerbated by a couple of unrelated murders consuming far too much of his time. After the third one fell into his lap in less than a week, he gave orders that he wasn't in the rotation for new cases until they found their killer. Brass needed to focus all of his attention on the Strangler investigation.

The Sheriff had agreed, but with one condition. He had ordered Jim to take a few days off at the first opportunity and get some rest. Burdette had made it clear; he wanted results and he wanted them fast which meant his lead detective needed to be clear-headed and focused. A cop working past the point of exhaustion was a liability, not an asset.

/First he orders me to focus exclusively on this case, then he orders me to take some time off… get out of town, completely away from the PD,/ he silently ranted, knowing the Sheriff was right but he too frustrated to be reasonable. /How the hell do I find this bastard sipping Mai Tai's on a beach somewhere?/

That thought inspired another… Casey in a bikini, lounging next to him. Their romantic evening the previous evening had been spoiled by a call from Sam Vega. While he had been relieved to hear that the suspect in his latest case had been arrested getting off of a bus in Bakersfield, the timing of the call had royally sucked. That memory underscored a fact he hadn't been ready to admit before that moment… his frustration and inability to sleep wasn't all about their lack of progress in the investigation.

/Meeting Casey has given me a whole new perspective on the phrase 'falling hard'! I'm nuts about her… I'd just like the opportunity to show her how much./

He felt a small smile tweak the corners of his lips as he admitted he needed more than rest if he truly wanted to regroup. He needed a lot of things, chiefly the time to concentrate on her… them, and he wasn't going to get that if he stayed in Vegas. He was way too accessible for the other members of the task force. As long as they could reach him on his cell, they knew he would drop what he was doing and report for duty.

Besides, they both deserved better. It might sound sappy to some of his colleagues, but he'd waited a long time to find someone like Casey and the thought of their first time being reduced to hurried sex fumbled through when he could find a few minutes in between murders just wasn't right.

/I'll never hear the end of it if they find out I'm a closet romantic! I wonder if Casey can get away for a short trip…/ he mused as he tried to refocus on the report in front of him.

Forcing his mind back to the business at hand, he reread his final report on his latest case. With a satisfied grunt, he hit send to email it to the DA handing the prosecution. For the first time in months, he was as close to being caught up as he had been in… /a long damned time/. The only current cases on his desk were those from the Strangler investigation. Unless another case hit them, he was at as good a place as he was likely to find to take a few days off.

Glancing at the clock, he noted that it was just after 9 in the morning. Once he'd attended the task force's daily briefing, he planned to go home and get some sleep. He and Casey had plans for dinner later that day, so he mentally added a discussion of a short vacation to the evening's agenda. /I hope she can take the time. We both need a little R&R… or is that R&S?/

Grinning at his own joke, Jim planted his palms on the edge of his desk so that he could push back his chair. The sound of a new message pinging into his Inbox caused him to pause. Seeing Casey's name flash briefly in the new mail notification window, he quickly clicked to open her message.

_**Is now a good time to call?**_

Shaking his head at her timing… /how does she do that?/, Jim pulled out his cell phone and entered her number. "Your timing is perfect, babe. I just wrapped up a case and was fixing to call it a day. So… what's up?"

"Well… I knew the answer to that question last night," her soft voice teased. "That would have been you… but that phone call kind of got in the way of that."

Groaning slightly at the memory she had evoked, he complained, "I nearly took poor Sam's head off when I got to the station. Romantic dinner, candlelight, and you. It was perfect except for the fact I forgot to turn off my phone. This is getting old fast, baby."

"I so agree… that's why I emailed."

"OK… so…?"

"I know you said the Sheriff is pushing you to take a few days off, so… still interested in a trip to the Grand Canyon?"

"Interested? Hell yes, I'm interested," he agreed, his tired senses beginning to tingle at the prospect of having her all to himself several hundred miles from the demands of their jobs. Her call seemed to confirm to old adage _good things come to those that wait_. "What do you have in mind… besides luring me away from Vegas so you can have you way with me?"

"Like you've been guarding your virtue," she scoffed. "You'd have rolled over and given it up…"

"…whenever you asked beginning the day we met… damned straight," he chuckled. "OK, since we both agree I'm easy, what's the plan?"

-----

Thanks for reading!!! Feedback is greatly appreciated!!

3-29-2009


	11. Chapter 11 Memorable

Title: By Design, Chapter 11

Author: Sorsha_711  
Fandom/Pairing: CSI; Brass/OCF  
Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations  
Disclaimer: A quick check of my bank account should prove I'm not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh! Anything you recognize belongs to the good people that bring us CSI.  
Summary: A serial killer is stalking the streets of Vegas… hell of a time for Brass to meet the woman of his dreams.

A/N --- Since I've been so slow in updating, I decided to post both chapters of Jim and Casey's weekend at the Grand Canyon together… yes, a twofer! I hope you enjoy the trip as much as they did!!!

By Design, Chapter 11 --- Memorable

-----

Jim felt his breath catch as their destination came in to view. Despite the fact he had lived in Las Vegas for over twenty years, he had never made the trip south to the Grand Canyon. It had been on his 'things to do' list for as long as he had been in town, but he had never found the time to make the drive. Feeling the gentle squeeze to his fingers as his companion shared the wonder of the moment, he came to a halt in the middle of the trail and let his eyes drink in the vista before him.

A soft, "Feel free to say, 'Wow'. I did my first trip," teased at his ear as Casey leaned over to press a quick kiss to his cheek.

"Somehow, wow seems inadequate, but… for the life of me, I can't come up with anything better," Jim admitted. "I hope you realize I plan to take a lot of pictures… assuming I get the chance. I'm probably going to have to keep an eye on you to keep from you from falling over the edge. You've been known to loose track once you pull out your camera."

Chuckling, she squeezed his hand again before letting go so that she could pull her own camera from her backpack. "Well, I had planned on taking a few… gigs… maybe half-a-dozen or so rolls of regular film. I promised David I'd take lots of shots so he can use them to refine the final plans for the landscaping at _Canyon Falls_… which also means we get to expense a lot of this trip!"

Surprised, he tore his eyes away the canyon spread out before him and looked in her direction. Despite the devilish twinkle sparkling in her sky blue eyes, Brass had no doubt she was giving him fair warning. "And here I was worrying you'd accuse me of getting carried away if I filled a couple of 1-gig cards! I'm glad I gave into temptation and packed my old 35mm in my bag or I'd be feeling a little disappointed right about now."

The grin deepened. Stepping up to him, she whispered, "If that had been the case, I might have felt inspired to try and improve your mood. Since you seem satisfied with your trusty old camera, I guess I don't need to…"

His lips cut off her teasing. Breaking the kiss a moment later, he murmured against her hair, "I'd hate to inhibit you."

"Behave," she scolded, her voice husky and breathless from his kiss. "We have an audience."

Glancing to his right, he smothered a grin at the looks on the faces of the young men watching them. "I wonder if they think you're too beautiful for me or I'm just too old, period? I better watch my step on the trail or one of them is likely to try to give me a nudge over the edge so they can run off with you."

Smacking his arm with a playful tap, she ordered, "I so do not want to hear any of that, mister! BOYS hold no appeal for me. I've finally found myself a real man, so don't think you're getting away from me that easily. Now, be a good detective and take your pictures."

Feeling the muscles between his shoulders begin to ease from the combination of her teasing and the knowledge he was several hundred miles from the Strangler investigation, he laughed. "Falling into the Grand Canyon is your idea of getting off easy?"

"If you don't want to find out, you better behave," she retorted, a mock glare on her face.

Chuckling, he slipped his arm around her waist and turned her toward the path skirting the canyon rim. "I'll behave… or you'll just have to remind me to be good."

"Yeah, like that's not going to necessary," Casey teased, looping her arm around him. "I guess I'll just have to take a firm hand…"

"Keep up this line of banter and we may shock our audience with a lot more than a kiss when I pull you off into those bushes," Jim threatened. "Pictures now… firm hands later."

Chuckling softly, she nodded and turned her attention back to the canyon.

-----

Casey groaned loudly as she fell back onto the bed. A contented smile lit her face as she took a moment to recover and catch her breath. "I must not be in as good a shape as I thought. That really took it out of me. I'm not sure I'm going to be able to leave this bed anytime soon."

Feeling the bed shift to her right, she turned her head to catch Jim's amused grin. "Maybe it's the altitude… not that I'm opposed to the idea of your being unwilling to leave our bed."

"Hummph," she mumbled. "If it's the altitude, why isn't it bothering you?"

Rolling onto his side so that he could prop his head up on his hand to watch her, Jim idly brushed an errant lock of hair away from her face. "Could be I've grown used to being without oxygen since I met you. You always take my breath away, baby."

A bright blue eye cracked open to study the man looming over her. "You have a real talent for that you know."

An eyebrow rose. "Dare I ask?"

Grinning, she wrapped her arms around his neck and tugged him toward her. "Saying something that should sound really cheesy but you make it sound romantic. It's a gift."

Bending to catch her lips in a drugging kiss, he whispered, "You inspire me."

After a few minutes, Jim reluctantly pulled away. Glancing at the bedside clock he groaned. "I'm afraid there's no time for the weary to rest. Our hike took longer than we planned… it's already after 6:00 and our dinner reservations are at 8. If we are going to get showered and changed and still have time to make it back to the rim before sunset, we need to get moving."

Reaching up to run a finger under the collar of his polo shirt, she whispered, "We could always watch the sunset from our balcony… call room service instead of going back out."

A slightly lecherous grin preceded, "I thought you said the best place to view the sunset was from that stretch of the rim trail south of the lodge… that the food at this restaurant is really great. You have it all planned out so my first trip to the Grand Canyon would be memorable."

Her smile turned wicked as she pulled him back to her. "Oh, I plan to make it memorable, baby."

-----

Snuggling back against the soft cotton of the robe covering his chest, Casey gave a contented sigh. The sun hovered just above the distant horizon, its waning light casting stunning shadows and setting fire to the exquisite colors in the stone surfaces of the canyon walls. Lifting her camera to frame her shot, she took several pictures, wanting to capture the moment forever.

Her lover's lips nipped at the lobe of her ear. "I can't imagine a more beautiful sunset."

Turning her head to catch those wandering lips in a lingering kiss, she admitted, "I was wrong. The best place to watch the sunset is from our balcony."

Resting his forehead against hers, Jim whispered, "I love you, Casey."

Her smile rivaled the sun. "I love you too, Jimmy."

-----

Feeling his heart rate drop back to near normal, Jim forced his eyes open. Smiling at the sight of her golden brown hair spread out across his chest, he debated disturbing her. Before he could make up his mind, a sleepy voice asked, "Do you think room service is still delivering?"

"I sure as hell hope so or they may find our withered remains in the morning," Jim observed. "Between the hike and your wanton demands on my body, I need some food now!"

Casey giggled. "I've never been called wanton before! Yeah me!"

"I think that should be 'yeah me'… twice in one evening for a guy my age… without much rest…"

A sparkling blue eye peeked out at him from under the fringe of her bangs. "I'd give you a standing ovation, but I don't think my legs will hold me up."

"Poor baby," he teased. "Do you have the strength to roll over and grab the menu or do I need to call a bellhop to bring us one?"

"You want me to move?"

"On second thought, no way am I letting another man see you like this," Jim asserted, pulling her relaxed body a little closer. "What would you like? I'll order."

"A thick steak, medium… loaded potato with extra cheese and bacon bits… tossed salad with blue cheese dressing… extra bread or rolls, whatever they have, and a chocolate sundae… tell them not to be stingy with the sprinkles and whipped cream… bottle of wine, your choice… ooooh, and a pot of herbal tea with honey."

"Is that all?" he asked, a smile clearly evident in his voice.

"Better have them throw in several bottles of water and a big bag of chocolate chip cookies to be safe," she blithely replied. "What are you having?"

"Do you think there will be anything left after you order all that?"

A second blue eye appeared. "Just what are you suggesting, Capt. Brass? I'm a very dainty eater."

"Since I'm feeling pretty sated at the moment, I'll refrain from responding to that one," he joked. "I guess Vega was right… I did need to get laid! After he stopped smirking at me when I told him he had the watch this weekend, he told me he hoped I'd come back to work on Monday in a lot better mood than I've been in lately."

Giggling, Casey twisted around to rest her chin on his chest. "I suspect all of our co-workers are going to wonder why we're both in such good moods next week. The shock of seeing us smiling for no reason may keep them out of our hair for a day or two."

"Yeah, but once they figure it out… I can already hear the comments. Grissom and his crew alone…" Jim groaned. "On the up side, Connie may start booking us weekend getaways on a regular basis hoping to keep me in a better mood."

"I could handle that… just be sure to leave brochures for places we actually want to go lying around on your desk," she urged. "So, what do you want?"

"You… but I guess I need food… and probably a little sleep before that's possible again," Jim complained. "A steak sounds good. Do you really want all that other stuff?"

"Yep… but, if you're a good boy, I'll share my honey and whipped cream."

------

"I'd pay good money for a picture of his face when he caught sight of you… looked down at all the food we ordered and figured out why we were so hungry," Jim laughed, pulling out a chair for her at the table on their small balcony. Her face was still flushed and glowing… her hair tussled. There was no mistaking how she had spent her evening and it gave him an amazing rush that he was the man responsible for her obvious contentment. "I have the feeling we're going to be the talk of the kitchens tonight."

"Hummm… I guess it's a good thing you can't die by blush because that poor kid would be a goner," she agreed, grinning at the self-satisfied gleam in his eyes as he admired her silk wrapped form. "I'm starving! Hey, get you mitts off of my loaded potato! I didn't offer to share any of it."

"Relax… I'll share my veggies," he promised, ignoring her complaints as he transferred half the steaming spud to his plate.

"Veggies… you're offering veggies?"

"I was trying to be good and not have a potato, but you've lead me astray once again," he lamented, plopping several florets of broccoli on her plate. "A man can't be held accountable when a beautiful woman encourages him to misbehave."

Casey paused with a thickly buttered roll an inch from her mouth to consider his comment. "Is it just me or is it getting a little sad that we've gotten to the point in our lives where our idea of being bad involves food?"

Watching as she sighed with pleasure as she took a big bite of the bread, Jim shook his head. "No, but it is a little sad that I'm jealous of that roll. I'm not sure I had you moaning that loud."

Giggling, she promised, "Oh, you did, babe, you did. You just couldn't hear me over your own!"

-----

Lounging against the back of the tub, Jim let out a contented sigh to rival any she had thus far offered. Taking a sip of his wine, he cracked open one eye to watch her wiggle into the space next to his body. "I could seriously get used to this."

A soft kiss warmed the skin over his heart. "Then aren't you glad we both have spa tubs at home. Once you get the swim spa installed… imagine the possibilities!"

"Definitely something to look forward to… enough to motivate me to hire a contractor to get the job finished quickly," he agreed. "You know you still have chocolate sauce and whipped cream… maybe a little honey, in your hair, right?"

"Too comfortable to worry about it at the moment," she whispered, snuggling a little closer to his side. "Remind me in the morning."

"When do you plan to drink that pot of tea?"

"Probably never… why?"

"Just wondering why you ordered it."

"'Cos I'd have sounded like a perv if I'd just ordered a pot of honey, but no tea. I've been wanting to try that since I saw _9½ Weeks_. Remind me to buy a jar the next time we go shopping," she instructed, a playful smirk underscoring her contentment. "Honey definitely tastes better nibbled from your chest."

"I don't think I've ever seen that movie, so you need to rent it for us to watch one night… one night that I don't have to work," Jim requested, savoring the though he'd never be able to look at honey the same way ever again. "Won't they know what you wanted it for when they realize the teapot is still full and the packets are all empty?"

"That or when they find honey all over the patio… but the chocolate sauce and whipped cream may distract them. We need to remember to add both of those to the shopping list too."

Taking another sip of his wine, he observed, "I think you need to take back your earlier comment about misbehaving and food… nothing sad about us!"

"Yeah, us!"

-----

4-2-2009


	12. Chapter 12 The Best Laid Plans

Title: By Design, Chapter 12

Author: Sorsha_711  
Fandom/Pairing: CSI; Brass/OCF  
Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations  
Disclaimer: A quick check of my bank account should prove I'm not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh! Anything you recognize belongs to the good people that bring us CSI.  
Summary: A serial killer is stalking the streets of Vegas… hell of a time for Brass to meet the woman of his dreams.

By Design, Chapter 12 --- The Best Laid Plans

-----

Jim's right hand flailed across the bedside table for several seconds as he tried to find the alarm clock without bothering to open his eyes. When that didn't work, he reluctantly gave into the enviable and reached over to turn off the alarm once his vision focused. He sagged back into the comfort of his pillows as the room once again fell silent.

The soft, warm body cuddled against his side immediately drew his attention. He had to strain to hear her mumbled, "What time…"

"4:49."

"Too early…"

A sleepy grin warmed his face. "Ummm… I think I said that when you set the alarm."

"Copter ride."

"Your idea again… sunrise flight so I can see it from inside the canyon… breakfast at the Native American village near the waterfalls… a day spent hiking and exploring the canyon floor. All part of your plan to make this trip memorable."

A sleepy chuckle. "How am I doing so far?"

Rolling to his side so that he could face her eye-to-eye, he whispered, "Most memorable trip of my life… but any morning I can wake up next to you is going to be memorable."

A slender hand reached up to caress his stubbly morning face. "You're pretty memorable yourself."

"Memorable good or memorable bad?"

He knew sleep had lost its hold on her senses as the devilish twinkle sparkled to life in her eyes. "Very, very good… especially when you're being bad."

"So happy you approve," he murmured, leaning over to kiss her smiling lips. After a moment, he added, "Want to finish this… conversation in the shower? Otherwise, no way we make that flight."

"Why do you think I set the clock for 4:45? I'm the one with the plan, remember?"

-----

Jim felt his heart skip a beat as the sun slipped free of the eastern horizon and began to spread light across the vast expanse of the canyon. The ground underneath them dropped suddenly away as their helicopter crossed the canyon rim and they soared free of the surrounding land. A thin sliver of silver glinted far below as the churning waters of the Colorado River thundered their way through the pass, carving and slicing as they went.

The faint click of Casey's camera reminded him he had his own draped around his neck. Within seconds he was totally engrossed in capturing as many shots as he could. The lines stress, duty, and not an insignificant amount of guilt had carved into his face had all but fallen away as he let the power of the moment wash over him, soothing and renewing as it went. He paused long enough to look over at his companion and simply smiled. Sometimes, words weren't necessary.

-----

A fine mist from the waterfall cooled his face as Jim stopped to take in the scene. "This place is amazing."

Casey paused as his side and leaned over to give him a quick kiss. "This is the waterfall I used as my inspiration for the one spilling into the central pool complex at _Canyon Falls_. The swimming pools will look like these natural pools… if the pool contractor does his job right. I need to get a lot of pictures of this spot, OK?"

"Sure. I've never seen colors like these," he offered. "That water is so clear… the blue is almost transparent in places."

Sighing, she admitted, "Sadly, the water in our system has to be treated like any pool water, so it will be that strange unnatural shade of blue unless our pool designers can find an acceptable alternative. I want to get some pictures of the water here to encourage them to make the effort. If that fails, I may have to drag their lazy asses down here to see if for themselves. Harvin is using a company out of New York and they aren't getting what I'm after. I don't know how many times I've said, 'this isn't Niagara!'"

"Just so long as their trip isn't particularly memorable."

-----

"I think I've walked more in the last two days than I have in the past two months," Jim observed, leaning on his elbow to watch the river flow past their picnic spot. "We hiked what… 4 or 5 miles yesterday and we must have covered about that this morning."

Nodding, Casey took another long sip from her bottle of water. "Sounds about right. The map indicated the last stretch of the trail to our pickup point is roughly the same length, so we should have plenty of time to rest and relax over lunch... maybe have a swim."

Sending her a lecherous look, he admitted, "Resting and relaxing isn't how I'd like to be spending our lunch… at least not all of the time."

"I did notice you chose a rather secluded spot for us to stop," she teased. "Whatever do you have in mind??"

"Bring that smile a little closer and I'll be happy to show you."

-----

"I'm glad you reminded me to bring my swim trunks," Jim admitted, as he slowly sank into the cool water. "A swim is just what I need to un-kink muscles that are protesting I'm not 20 any more. Hot sex and long hikes are a lot to ask of an old man."

A small wave of water washed over his face. "No old man crap allowed."

Turning to float on his back, Jim laughed. "You make me forget most of the time."

"Damn it, Jim. 56 isn't old… not even close!"

A cloud passed over his face as his smile dimmed. "Maybe… maybe the problem isn't my age as much as my life."

Plunging into the water, she surfaced at his side. "Tell me... talk to me. Quid pro quo, remember? With all the demands you've had on you lately, you haven't had a chance… and I think you need to talk some things through… say them out loud and put them behind you."

Sighing, he admitted, "I do. It's… the last twenty years… since my divorce… the move to Vegas, things went quickly downhill with Ellie and… I've felt like my life was passing me by… like my best days were already behind me. My job… it takes a heavy toll, baby. Until I met you… you were like a light finding me in the dark. I suddenly felt like I had a reason to get up in the morning… something to look forward to… seeing you."

Twisting her body so that she was drifting on the current next to him, Casey reached out to caress his face, touched by the uncharacteristic vulnerability in his eyes. "I love you, Jim. You've changed my life too… made me feel hopeful again. You've become the center of my life and some days that scared me… until this weekend. Now I just feel strong… whole."

"I know the feeling," he murmured back. "I love you too."

"Quid pro quo."

A small smile brightened his face. "That's a first for me. I've never had that."

"What?"

"I've never…" he began, clearly unsure of how to put his feelings into words. "It's always been me… just me. I've been alone most of my life, but… it never felt right… like something important was missing. I'd given up on finding this… the feeling I'm not alone anymore. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah, it does," she whispered, her eyes bright with tears. "I felt the same way until I met you."

"Ok… good," he responded, lost for a moment in her gaze. "I guess what I'm getting at is… you're there. You ask about my day… even when I don't want to… can't really, talk about my cases. I don't want to put the details of my work into your head… but it means a lot knowing I can talk about the usual stuff we all deal with at work… that you'd listen regardless of what I need to talk through. I'm rambling… making a mess…"

A soft caress to his cheek accompanied her soft reassurance, "No you're not. I feel like that too. You always ask about my day too… what I'm doing. It makes me feel like I matter… that you care… that I'm not just an object. You see me… all of me. You let me share my life and you share yours with me. I want to know… need to know, so I can understand what's going on in your life. I've never had that before either."

A feeling of peace and calm settled into his heart as he nodded. "That's it. Nancy, my ex… she never asked… she'd cut me off if I tried to talk… told me she didn't want to know. After a while, all we had to discuss was… well, surface crap… gossip or what color to paint the living room… that or we'd fight over the gas bill or what show to watch on tv. By the end, we just fought… one long fight that never seemed to end; we just picked up every evening where we left off that morning."

"How did you meet her?"

"High school," he offered. "She was a grade behind me… started coming to hockey practice after school her sophomore year. I made the starting team that year, more for being willing to take a hit or use my body to throw a block than for any real skill. Nancy was pretty… made me feel like this big jock… major turn-on for a guy that's only 5'9"."

Tamping down a feeling of jealousy, Casey gently pressed, "So… she was your high school sweetheart?"

A flash of pleasure coursed through his body as he sensed her reaction. "Yeah, I guess that about sums us up. I did pretty well in school, planned to go to college… was hoping for a hockey scholarship. Looking back… she was looking for a way out of Newark. Nancy and her mom decided I was her ticket out of the working class neighborhood where we lived… maybe all the way to a home in the suburbs and an easy life."

"I guess it all was working out for her… I got offered a free ride to a college in upstate New York," he recounted, grounded by the feeling of acceptance she was silently offering. "The day I signed my letter of intent… that night she finally gave it up. Had to be love right?"

Not expecting an answer, he offered, "I thought we were covered… she had a condom, so no worries… until one day near the end of the season. She was waiting on me… eyes red and a tears flowing. She was pregnant."

"I decided to do the right thing," he reported, letting his eyes shut as they drifted on the current. "I knew my folks would try to talk me out of it… they didn't approve of Nancy. Her mom had a rep for sleeping around… like mother like daughter, I guess."

"Anyway, I cashed in all the savings bonds my grandparents had given me for birthdays and… we eloped," he recalled with a sigh. "My folks were furious… threw me out of the house."

Letting his thoughts drift back, Jim remembered, "My Aunt Nell… she'd lost her husband and daughter in a car wreck when I was ten… I was close to her. She was furious with my parents… she said they should be happy they still had me… that you love you kids no matter what. They didn't listen, so she let us move in with her."

"I got a job after school working at the docks cleaning fish to help with the bills," Jim recounted. "Smelliest damned job I ever had, but the pay was decent. I came home stinking like fish every night. Nancy had morning sickness, so it made her sick. I'd take a shower and douse myself in Aqua Velva to try and mask it. Still hate the smell of that stuff… reminds me."

"Things weren't great, but… we were getting by," he reported. "Then one day… she was going down the basement stairs to do some laundry. Aunt Nell was a work… I found her at the bottom… unconscious and bleeding. She's slipped and fallen… lost the baby."

"I'm so sorry," she whispered.

"Yeah… well… not meant to be I guess," he replied, his voice gruff with the remembered pain of loosing the baby. "I had to quit the team so I could work more hours to pay her medical bills… lost my scholarship… barely managed to graduate. College… college was just a pipe dream at that point. Everything seemed to be falling apart."

"At that age… it must have been overwhelming," Casey whispered, her hand sliding down to cover his heart.

"Yeah." Sighing, he continued. "The doctors told us Nancy had suffered serious internal damage… not much chance she'd be able to get pregnant again. She was angry… blamed it on me. I should have been there… my parents should have supported us better. That's when we started arguing… I hated coming home… so…"

He fell silent. Casey aligned her body to his and steered them back toward the shore as the current began to tug them toward the main flow of the river. Feeling the current ease, she returned her hand to his chest as they began to float again. Nothing was said as he sorted through his memories free to continue when he was ready.

"After work… I started going out drinking with some of the guys I worked with," he began. "Nancy got pissed… I guess she had a right about that… I mean my going out partying leaving her alone at the house. Anyway, she moved back to her mother's place. I fell into a downward spiral… wake up, go to work, get drunk, go home and pass out… start over the next morning. My aunt… she tried to help me, but… I wasn't listening."

"One night… well, the guys I was hanging with were a pretty rough crew," he admitted. "I guess it was inevitable, but one night… a fight broke out between one of them and another guy over a pool game. The fight got out of hand… I got pulled in… the police came and we all ended up in jail. It wasn't until the next day I found out that one of the guys that started the fight had died… broken beer bottle tore open a vein in his leg."

"My parents refused to take my calls… but my aunt… God knows I owe her… she had a friend that was a lawyer," Jim recounted. "He knew the judge… convinced him to give me the option of jail or the Marines. I was in basic training at Parris Island down in South Carolina ten days later… served two tours in Viet Nam. I managed to save enough for college… Seton Hall. My parents started speaking to me again… their son the college man. My life seemed to be getting back on track. Day I graduated, Nancy showed back up."

"You hadn't seen her after she left… before…"

"Yeah… she hadn't come back and I hadn't gone looking."

"So…?"

"I told her to take a hike… I planned to file for divorce once I could afford it," Jim offered. "We got into an argument… it got pretty intense… she was pushing every button I had. Anyway… we somehow ended up in bed and she… she just moved in."

Frowning, Casey repeated, "She just moved back in… like nothing had happened?"

"Yeah."

"And… you were OK with that?"

"No… but… I didn't know what to do… I mean… we had slept together, so… I guess I felt I'd taken her back. That was the final straw with my folks… they never forgave me for 'choosing that tramp' over my family. My older brother called after Mom died. They didn't want me at her funeral… were afraid I'd embarrass the family again," Jim recalled, the pain of that slight clear. "Dad lives in Philly with Rick's family. I haven't seen either one of them in years."

"I agree with your aunt… you deserved a lot better," Casey murmured. "Is she still alive?"

"Yeah… I've been trying to get her to move out here since she retired a few years ago," he offered. "The winters are getting too hard on her, so she's 'thinking about it'. You'd love her."

"I'd love to meet her," she reassured, sensing his unspoken question… would she mind having his aunt living nearby. "Maybe we can go visit her soon… let you work your charm in person."

"Yeah, I'm known to be quite the charmer."

"I think so," Casey whispered. "You've been charming me since the first time we met."

That made him smile. "What did it for you… the leer or the lame attempts at keeping you talking until I could think of a way to ask you out?"

"Both… that and the fact you weren't staring at my ass when I looked back."

"You just didn't catch me. I guess my luck has improved a lot since… I still can't believe I just let her move back in as if nothing had happened," he growled, the anger he felt at himself for that decision eating at him more than anything his ex had done… other than the matter of Ellie. "Stupid, right?"

"Maybe… but it's probably not as bad as having surgery to make someone else happy," she observed. "I think letting someone use a scalpel on your face probably rates higher on the stupid scale."

Reaching out to toy with the charm of the silver butterfly necklace she was wearing, Jim noted, "Maybe we've both learned a few things along the way."

A soft smile greeted his observation. "Maybe. I love you but no scalpels."

"Deal… unless I decide I need a tuck to keep up with…" breaking off as he sputtered from the splash of water that washed over his face. "OK, no scalpels."

Suspecting he needed to finish his emotional purge before they moved on to easier topics, she nudged, "So… Nancy moved back in with you…"

"Yeah," he affirmed. "I honestly thought she would leave when she found out I'd joined the Newark PD. I'd wanted to be a cop… a detective for years, but I guess she thought I'd 'outgrow' the desire."

"You love being a cop. It's who you are," Casey observed. "I can't imagine you being anything else."

Smiling, he agreed. "Me either. Anyway… the marriage was a joke. We never talked; we argued and had angry sex. I started working as much overtime as I could pull… she loved the extra money, especially when it meant she didn't have to deal with me. I avoided going home for days at a time… working Vice gave me lots of reasons and I took them all. The first time I realized she had been sleeping around on me… well, after that… I should have walked out, but… I turned a blind eye and went back to work. Strike two."

"No matter how bad the marriage, it hurts to be cheated on," she murmured.

"Yeah, it does," he murmured. "Anyway, it was a shock to us both when she got pregnant again… the doctors had been pretty emphatic she wouldn't be able to. It never entered my mind… I figured Ellie was mine… why I don't know. I've asked myself that question more times than I can count, but I've never been able to answer it. Anyway, after she was born, I stayed around for Ellie."

"Ellie was the light of my life," Jim whispered, this betrayal the one he had never managed to overcome, "… then Nancy decided to punish me for… hell, I can't even remember what she was mad about that day. Strike three was when I didn't leave her and take my kid… only Ellie's not really mine."

Casey hesitated for a moment before offering, "You should hear your voice when you talk about Ellie. You love her… worry about her… probably lay awake nights wondering if she's safe. She's your daughter, Jim. Providing the sperm is the easy part. You gave her a father."

"Maybe, but I didn't do the best job of that either," he hedged. "Anyway, I wanted to leave, but I was afraid she's cut me out… keep me from seeing Ellie, so I hung around for a few more years… ignored her screwing around and buried myself in my work. I'm not proud of this, but… I ended up having an affair with another cop. Annie… I cared for her, but it… it was just an affair. She left when she got a better job with the LAPD and… it was just over."

"That sucks."

A wry grin lit his face. "Yeah… it did, but… that's behind me. Saw her a few years back… friendship's all that's left."

Studying him closely for a few seconds, she pressed, "And Nancy?"

That made him laugh. "I was over Nancy a long time ago. I guess I still have a lot of anger over how she acted, but… that night… after you told me about your past… it occurred to me that… a lot of the anger I've felt for so long… I just don't feel it like I did. I think that was when I realized how totally different you are and… I trust you."

A brilliant smile was his reward. "I trust you too, Jimmy. There aren't that many people I can say that about, but I trust you… and love you."

Pulling her toward him, he claimed her smiling lips in a healing kiss. The sudden movement threw off his floating balance and they disappeared under the water. Oblivious, the couple let the kiss linger until the need for air drove them apart and back to the surface.

Feeling the pull of the current increase, Jim reluctantly observed, "I think we need to head back a little closer to shore, Case. We're getting into deep water."

The devilish grin he loved returned to her face. "We've been in deep water for a while… a detective of your skills should have noticed that already."

His smile was tender. "I'm willing to try body surfing over whatever rapids we encounter in those waters, beautiful, but not the real ones."

Her chuckle wrapped warmly around him as they paddled lazily toward the shore.

-----

"Well, the restaurant is booked solid," Jim reported as he hung up the phone. "Where were you planning on us eating tonight since we don't have reservations?"

A lame attempt at an innocent look turned in his direction. "I had assumed tonight would be the call for room service night… the best laid plans…"

"Thank you."

Grinning, she asked, "For what?'

Reaching over to snag her hand and pull her into his arms, he smirked. "You said the best laid…"

-----

"I think we've permanently traumatized him," Jim observed, as the door closed behind their waiter. "He couldn't even make eye contact with me tonight."

"Maybe we need to stop answering the door in our bath robes."

Holding out his hands like he was weighing something, Jim pondered, "Not scandalizing a waiter we'll never see again or easy access. Tough choice, but I leaning toward the easy access argument."

"Hummm… let's pretend his employee benefits include crisis counseling and let some poor girl straighten him out in a few years," Casey agreed. "Besides, there's nothing too erotic on the order tonight."

"That's because you paid a visit to the general store and bought your own… supplies."

"I never got to be a Girl Scout, so I've had to learn to improvise my own version of 'be prepared'," she offered, as she pulled the covers off of their plates. "Are you complaining?"

"Hell no, but I think 'be prepared' is the Boy Scouts," Jim observed, snagging a slice of cucumber off of her salad. "It's been a while, but I'm pretty sure that was our pledge."

"I wasn't one of those either. The point is I've learned to improvise."

"Works for me. Can I join your pack?"

Giggling in response to his quip, she observed, "In addition to being good at making cheesy sound romantic, you're even better at making innocent sound dirty."

"Well, I may have once been a Boy Scout, but I was also a Marine, so blame that skill on them," he suggested before taking a bite of his fish. "This trout is pretty good. Can I try your…"

-----

Hefting the monster burger he had ordered, he commented, "I guess this will be the last one of these I have for a while. I'm afraid it's salads and grilled chicken for me for the next few weeks."

Chuckling, Casey took a sip of her root beer float. "You and me both… but I think we got enough exercise this weekend to allow us to indulge a bit. Besides, you can't eat cottage cheese and lettuce at a roadside diner on Route 66… it's un-American!"

Setting his burger back into the basket, he demanded, "Does this mean we aren't going to be 'exercising' once we get back to Vegas? I like exercising with you… a lot!"

Giggling, she raided of the order of fries they were sharing. "So… you want to be my personal trainer?"

"Well, there's a euphemism I've never heard," he retorted, waggling his eyebrows. "Does the position come with benefits?"

Choking slightly on a fry, she covered her mouth as she laughed. Leaning forward, she whispered, "I think you may have another offer from the lady sitting at the next table. She looks very interested in our conversation… has been giving you the once over since we walked in."

"Well… tempting as that idea surely is, I'm kind of old-fashioned," he whispered back. "I was sort of hoping for an exclusive arrangement… Beauty to my Jersey Boy… or is that naughty delivery girl to my stern Captain?"

"How about bad cop interrogating the innocent…"

Breaking into her teasing, he mused, "I wonder if that hotel rents rooms by the hour? We may have to find out if you keep that up."

"Keep what up, Jersey Boy?"

"That hotel is looking more and more inviting," he murmured.

"Or… there's always the caboose at the railroad museum."

"You are so bad!! I thought the naughty delivery girl was modest and shy?" he retorted. "Hey… leave me a few of those will ya! I was supposed to get half of those fries!"

A ray of sunlight had slipped through the blinds, striking golden highlights in her hair. Reaching over to grab his hand, she whispered, "I love you." The sight of her smiling face lit by the sun… the sparkle that glowed in her eyes… the husky quality of her voice that betrayed her emotions… that moment was a memory that would stay with him for the rest of his life.

"I love you too."

-----

Jim cut off the engine of his car and turned to study her face in the limited glow cast by the street light. They had made a meandering trip back, stopping at various points of interest, as well as, every tourist trap between the Canyon and Vegas, so they had gotten back to her house a lot later than they had planned. Reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, he whispered, "That was the most amazing weekend of my life."

"Mine too." Catching his hand, she offered, "It doesn't have to end yet. Stay the night."

Smiling he nodded. "I was hoping you'd say that… but I need to warn you. Once you let me into your bed, I may be hard to get rid of."

"I'm counting on that."

-----

A/N --- I hope you enjoyed these chapters. Yes, I know the love scenes weren't even a little explicit, but… that just didn't seem to fit the flow of the story. I'm feeling more a 40's romantic mystery vibe… fade to black when things get hot and leave the details to your imagination. Sorry, but my muse was pretty insistent. WEG!! The next few chapters will be a **lot **darker as the hunt for the Backwoods Strangler heats up. I'd love to hear from you and get your thoughts on the story, so please leave me a note!! More soon!

4-2-2009


	13. Chapter 13 The One That Got Away

Title: By Design, Chapter 13

Author: Sorsha_711  
Fandom/Pairing: CSI; Brass/OCF  
Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations  
Disclaimer: A quick check of my bank account should prove I'm not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh! Anything you recognize belongs to the good people that bring us CSI.  
Summary: A serial killer is stalking the streets of Vegas… hell of a time for Brass to meet the woman of his dreams.

By Design, Chapter 13 --- The One That Got Away

-----

Greg Sanders stuck his head in the door of Brass's office to announce, "We may have found someone that had an encounter with the Strangler and lived to tell the tale."

Looking up, Jim gestured to the chair across from him. "You found something in the fender-bender reports?"

"Yeah… from five months ago. A woman… Karen Lieu was leaving work one night… found a man waiting for her in the parking lot near her car. There was a big dent in the rear quarter panel where someone had backed into it," Greg outlined, dropping into the proffered chair. "Her mystery man claimed to have the license plate number of the car that had hit hers… held out a piece of paper, probably to get her close enough to grab."

"Probably."

"Something about this guy scared her," the CSI continued, "…so she ran into a nearby street and flagged down a car... called 911. The man was gone by the time the patrol unit arrived. Ms. Lieu and the couple in the car reported seeing a light color van leaving the lot in a big hurry… too far away to get make or a tag number."

"Why didn't we hear about this sooner?" Brass growled. The relaxed and rejuvenated air that had surrounded the detective in the days after his return from the Grand Canyon had eroded quickly in the weeks that followed as the grim realities of their investigation consumed his energies. "The BOLA on the van has been circulating for months!"

Sharing the detective's frustration, Greg offered, "Apparently, the uni that took the call didn't take the situation seriously. He only included the part about this guy and his van in his accident report because Karen Lieu insisted… he thinks she panicked over nothing… apparently, she kept going on and on about an email she'd gotten from a friend."

"An email?"

Nodding, Greg reported, "Yeah… a warning about a man grabbing women out of parking lots using a Good Samaritan scam. She kept insisting that the man was the one in the email. Officer Collins wrote it off as an overreaction to one of those spammed urban legends… assumed the email had made her jumpy and suspicious. He was actually pissed she hadn't gotten the tag info from 'a guy that was just trying to do the right thing'."

"That email probably saved her life," Jim bit out. "What's Collins full name? We don't need idiots like that patrolling the streets!"

"In his defense, I spoke with Karen Lieu and she's wound pretty tight," the CSI observed, passing the police captain the requested information. "Collins made a seriously bad call, but the witness probably didn't help her case."

"I don't care if she was foaming the mouth, we have an obligation…" Brass began. Taking a deep breath, he refocused on the main investigation. "OK, fine… I'll deal with him later. Did she give you a description of her man of myth and spam?"

Flipping through his notes, Sanders observed, "I'm not sure how useful this is going to be… but getting it was a total adventure. It's starting to get pretty depressing when an 18-year old makes me feel ancient."

"Poor baby," Jim mocked, "… I feel your pain."

"I'm just saying…"

"If it makes you feel any better, you have that effect on me most days," Jim retorted. "I believe you were giving me a report…"

"Yeah, OK," Greg agreed, grinning with relief that he still had it. "Let's see… you need to hear the actual quotes to get the full effect. OK… here we go… 'Old white guy, but not really old… you know, 40 maybe'."

"Ah, the source of your depression," Jim interjected, a smirk easing the tension on his face. "Now that you're on the dark side of 30, the tag 'old white guy' is just around the corner."

"That's so not funny."

With an amused shrug of his shoulders, Brass motioned for the younger man to continue. "Most old white guys would disagree. What else?"

"'Tall… but not really, really tall… you know, tall'," Greg read, glancing up briefly from his notes to grin in response to the policeman's muttered, 'Geez, where did you find this one?'. "Hang on… it get's better. Muscular build… 'real nice arms for a psycho'."

"What? Psychos don't normally have nice arms?" Jim responded, rolling his eyes.

"She didn't seem to think so, but she did admit he was her first," Greg offered. "Dark clothes… no bling, logos, or labels that she noticed. He had on a baseball cap, dark color… again no logo or writing. It was pulled down low over his eyes… eyes otherwise hidden by big dark-rim glasses… 'like that guy on tv… what's his name… Crew or Brew Something… but just the glasses, not the rest of him'. This guy's apparently 'not fat like that guy, just… muscle'ly'."

Looking up, he concluded, "I'm assuming she meant Drew Carey."

"Well, unless you think he's our guy, I wouldn't spend much time chasing that lead." Shaking his head at Sanders' smirk, Jim pressed, "Anything else?"

Pausing to reread a notation, Greg grew serious. "The ball cap's what made her nervous. It was after dark… between it and the glasses his face was pretty much hidden. The email she kept talking about called him the 'Baseball Cap Killer'… it all fit the warning, so she decided to run and ask questions later."

"If more people listened to those warning bells instead of worrying about looking stupid if they're wrong, we'd have a lot fewer bodies to scrap off the sidewalk," Brass observed. "Ask her to sit down with a sketch artist… doesn't sound like she got a good look at his face, but anything would be more than what we have now."

"She already volunteered, so I dropped her off with Tess before I came to see you," the CSI reported as he rose to return to work.

"Good work." Pausing briefly, Jim added, "And, Greg… while's she's here, see if she still has that email. If not, see if you can track it down."

Turning in the doorway to look back at the veteran policeman, Greg asked, "You think there's something to it… that there really is a 'Baseball Cap Killer'? …that maybe he's Keyser… you know, the Backroads Strangler?"

"I have no idea at this point, but… I've heard there's usually at least an element of truth to most urban legends," Brass noted. "We know the Strangler has killed before, so maybe the email was started by someone that had a similar encounter and decided to take her message to the web. I'd like to see if there's more in that email than a baseball cap."

-----

Brass settled back into the plush comfort of his chair in the exclusive restaurant Casey's friend had selected for dinner. He was hoping to hide his scrutiny of their hostess behind the glass of single malt Scotch he was sipping. Chloe Winslow Malone wasn't making a comparable effort to hide her inspection of him. Her pale green eyes were narrowed with hawk-like intensity as they raked his face and upper body looking for weaknesses… or maybe in a determined attempt to see what had so fascinated her former stepmother.

Casey had started the evening in high spirits, buoyed by the prospect of spending the evening in the company of one of her closest friends and the man she introduced as 'the love of my life'. Chloe's den mother attitude had quickly become apparent and Casey had hesitated noticeably before excusing herself to visit the ladies room. It hadn't required a detective of his considerable skills to realize she was concerned about the advisability of leaving them alone. He was reasonably sure she was more concerned about his welfare than Chloe's, a thought that had him struggling to contain a wicked smirk.

Casually setting his glass back on the table, Jim decided to meet his companion's concern head-on. "I do realize I don't deserve her… that I'm not nearly good enough, but I love her… not just her beautiful face, but the entire beautiful woman."

His companion's eyes narrowed a little further. "Casey says the same thing about you."

Quirking an eyebrow, Jim mused, "Really? Nobody ever accused me of being beautiful before. Must be love."

The veteran detective almost missed the slight ripple of movement to her set features as she suppressed a smile. "Must be."

Tipping his glass in acknowledgement, he prompted, "If you're going to say whatever you plan to say, you better make it quick. I don't think Casey plans to leave us alone too long."

"Probably not," Chloe agreed. "She's not nearly as trusting and naïve as she was when I first met her."

"How long after their marriage was that? From what she's told me, she didn't retain either trait for long," Jim offered.

"No, she didn't… and I met her before Dad," she supplied. "Sad to say but I was the one to draw his attention to her… although I guess it was only a matter of time before he spotted her. She would have been too low on the totem pole for him to pay her much attention if she hadn't been gorgeous."

"Always was. She's showed me pictures from back in the day… though Case doesn't seem to realize she never needed help in the beauty department," Brass observed. "She thinks her looks are 'a lie'."

"I know," Chloe agreed, "… but then, Dad didn't see any advantage in clueing her… she might have realized she could do a hell of a lot better than him and then, where would he be?"

"Real fan of your father aren't you?" Jim noted. "Is that because he cheated on your mother… and not just with Casey?"

"It's a start, but he's never been much of a father… much too selfish and self-absorbed," she replied. "Casey and I have tried to decide if he's a worse husband or father, but we gave up… decided he wasn't worth the effort."

"Ouch."

"Mom wasn't much better… she had her affairs too. She was just more discrete and he was never able to prove anything," the heiress offered. "My older brother Rob's the only one they paid much attention to… and he's the only one that has time for them now. For the most part, we were raised by nannies and boarding schools… not a lot of family bonding time."

Toying with the stem of her glass, she admitted, "Richard teases me I'm obsessed with 'quality time' with our two, but… I just don't want to make the same mistakes they made with us. I prefer to make my own."

That comment made him wince slightly. "So, you introduced your dad to Casey."

Shrugging her shoulders in response to the prompt, she recalled, "In a manner of speaking, I guess I did. I went by his office one day… lunch plans or something. Dad had forgotten as usual and I was waiting… bored and pissed off with the world. I started wandering around the design floor… I loved seeing the models and renderings of the projects."

Pausing to take a sip of her drink, a small smile brightened her pretty face. Chloe Malone was pretty, but it was the pretty of a woman that could afford the best clothes, the best hair stylists, the best period. What money couldn't buy was the fierce intelligence that animated her features. The combination was striking.

"In the back of the main workroom… crammed between the men's room and a janitorial closet, there was a set of renderings spread out on a drafting board," she continued, "…the kind of project Dad's firm probably took to keep a regular client happy more than for the project itself. It wasn't something they normally would have considered worthy of their talents… at least then. Now, they'd be happy to get the work. Then, it was the type of project relegated to the lowest person in the Winslow-Gaines-Taylor pecking order."

"And?"

"I'm not an architect, but I have a good eye for design," Chloe asserted. "That small, insignificant project was the best damned thing in the whole place. It was functional and practical… no grand statements that just added to the bottom line, but offered little to the end result. That isn't to say it was plain or lacked for anything. That plan had style and flare… presence. Even the quality of the renderings was better than the ones for most of the 'important' projects… the multi-million dollar hotels and hi-rises. That plan had clearly been done by someone with extraordinary talent… an artist."

"Casey."

Meeting his gaze, she nodded. "Yes. I had been standing there for several minutes studying the plans when this… bundle of raw energy and nerves appeared out of nowhere. I can still see her… she had one of the most beautiful faces I'd ever seen, but the rest… a disaster from head to toe. She looked like a thrift store had exploded all over her… a Madonna-wannabe without the self-confidence to pull it off. I thought she was kidding when she asked if I liked HER work… it didn't seem to add up. It was years before I began to understand how someone with her amazing talent, not to mention that face and body, could be so insecure."

"Yeah… that took me by surprise too," Jim agreed. "Her childhood is a large part of it… but your dad did a real number on her. If she hadn't been so strong and resilient, he would have destroyed her… and never lost a minute's sleep. She deserves so much better."

Studying him for a few seconds, she seemed to come to a decision. "If you hurt her, I'll make sure it's the last thing you ever do. Are we clear?"

"Crystal," Jim acknowledged. "I know there's a lot more to her than that beautiful face."

"My dad never got that," Chloe stressed. "In many ways, Casey is more my family than my parents ever thought about being… she actually cares about me, my life… my husband and daughters. She's the one that encouraged me to pursue my law degree… got me involved in environmental causes… social equity issues. That's how I met Richard. I was on the fast track to becoming another vapid, self-indulgent party girl. I like to think I've made a difference… largely because of the changes she encouraged. Casey… Casey is…"

"Special," Jim completed, a passionate fire blazing to life in his eyes as he spotted his lover making her way through the crowded dining room in their direction. He was too distracted to notice the amused smirk on the other woman's face as she noted his reaction… or the faint nod of approval.

-----

"Based on what you've uncovered here and along the Gulf Coast, the FBI has expanded the search nationwide," Alexis Martinez offered. "We've found cases in three other regions that fit the MO of your killer."

"Where?"

Studying the tense figure of the Clark County Sheriff, the FBI forensic psychiatrist supplied, "Pittsburg, St. Louis, and Minneapolis. Those cases stretch back over a twenty-seven year period… and we may end up adding a few more names to that estimate before we're done. We're still sorting through possible cases in Philadelphia and Baltimore."

Burdette's voice was little more than a low growl. "How many?"

Dropping her gaze to the report in front of her, she admitted, "If this is the same killer, 47 murders in those areas fit his MO… 8 in Pittsburg where we think he began… 16 in St. Louis… 23 in the Twin Cites area. The Royal Canadian Police have contacted us in response to our alert. They think a string of 7 unsolved murders from the late 90's near Winnipeg may be connected to him as well… probably tied to the Minneapolis investigation given the location and timeline."

Fixing her with a searing glare, Burdette demanded, "You're telling me this son-of-a-bitch has killed over 50 women, not including the 22 we've uncovered here and in New Orleans, and the FBI is just now putting the pieces of the puzzle together? How the hell did this happen?"

Holding his gaze, Alexis acknowledged, "I'm afraid that is exactly what I'm telling you, Sheriff. In the prior three… four locations, he spaced his kills out over years… spread the bodies out over a wide area. He left virtually nothing behind to tie him to those killings. A lot of those killings occurred before the advent of current forensic investigative tools… DNA in particular, so most of them weren't linked initially. We're going back through those files for anything that might yield useable evidence… but that could take weeks… longer."

"We need access to everything you or any of those jurisdictions have and we need it now," Burdette declared. "Our people are up to speed on his MO, so we're more likely to see a link."

"Maybe… it we had that much to offer," she hedged. "Frankly, I doubt we could get a conviction based on the evidence collected for most of these cases. A lot of it wasn't stored in ideal conditions… other items were mishandled. We'll provide access to whatever we find, but you've got the best chance we've ever had of stopping him before he moves on to a new hunting ground and starts over."

"Why here?"

"Pardon?"

Frowning, the Sheriff clarified his question. "Why do you think we'll get him since he's alluded capture this long?"

"His MO has changed in some ways… he's making less effort to dispose of his kills… he's taking more risks," she theorized. "Whether this means he's getting sloppy or loosing control… perhaps driving pleasure from the media coverage, we can't yet say. I suspect it's a combination of all three, but finding several of the victims as quickly as you did meant both trace and DNA evidence was recovered. Its possible he left similar evidence on earlier victims that was lost due to time and exposure… we simply can't say with any certainty."

"What I can say is that you and your people have done an outstanding job thus far," Martinez noted. "You made the connections, established a team of your most experienced personnel to handle the case, and decided to look outside of Clarke County. That decision alone means we may finally have the chance of giving a lot of grieving families closure… many of whom have given up hope of ever knowing what happened to their loved one. The LVPD knows as much about him as anyone… have more on him than all the rest of us combined."

Glancing over at Brass and Grissom, Burdette acknowledged, "We like to think our people are the best. I appreciate having the FBI confirm it."

"Glad to be of service."

"Before all this praise goes to our heads," the Sheriff added, "let's get back to these other cases. Give us the timeline."

Taking a deep breath, Martinez began by distributing a bound report. "At this time, we believe he killed his first victim in the spring of 1982. The body of an unknown woman was found along a rural road south of Pittsburg in a national forest. Seven more victims were found in and around the Allegany Valley before the killings abruptly stopped in 1984. Because he left his victims in woods and forests, he became known as the Woodsman."

"The first case we're attributing to him in the St. Louis area was in September 1989… Celina Reagan was reported missing by her father on the 23rd… her body was found near a boat ramp south of the city two months later," the psychiatrist reported. "Over the next five years, fifteen other women were abducted, raped, and strangled before being dumped in a rural area. The last known victim we've identified was Crystal Jefferies… abducted July 3, 1994, body found five weeks later. At that time, he was known as the Riverside Killer."

"Women first began disappearing in the Twin Cities area in the fall of 1996," she continued. "Over the course of four and a half years, twenty-nine women are believed to have become his victim, including seven in Canada. His killing spree in the Twin Cities area ended in late 2000. While the bodies were left over in three states, mostly in rural or lakeside settings… hence the name the Lakeland Killer, most of his victims were taken in and around Minneapolis and St. Paul."

Pausing to take a sip of water, she let her gaze meet Brass's. The experienced psychiatrist had no difficulty reading his simmering anger and frustration… feelings shared by most of the conference room's inhabitants. "The next killings we've linked to the Strangler began in 2001 in New Orleans… the Samantha Dawles murder. In total, we think at least eleven women died between her disappearance on February 16 and the death of Josie Renaldo in May of 2006. Since one of the families alerted the press about the link between these cases and your investigation, the local press and law enforcement are calling him the Backwoods Strangler as well."

"You have two more names on your list from New Orleans than we have," Catherine interjected, looking up from the list of victims associated with the Gulf Coast area. "We need the files on Anne Lintula and… Allison Chang."

"We have a lot of material to share with you after the main meeting is over," the FBI profiler responded, indicating a large stack of evidence boxes and file folders covering the table and floor area along one side of the conference room.

"Unless I'm missing something," Vega began, "there's a pretty big gap between when you think he left Pittsburg and moved to St. Louis… same from there to Minneapolis. Someone killing at this rate isn't likely to stop for five years."

"We agree," she acknowledged. "That's why we're still looking in other areas. I think it's likely he's responsible for killings in Philadelphia and Baltimore respectively during those timeframes. If so, we can add another fourteen names to the list."

"Dear God!" Burdette exclaimed. "At the rate we're adding names, this bastard may be responsible for as many as a hundred murders! How can that possibly be right?"

"The truly horrific part is… our number is probably much lower than the actual count," she admitted, her voice heavy with that knowledge. "Consider this… the Green River Killer was responsible for at least 48 murders, but he claims the actual number is over 90. In spite of one of the most focused and organized investigations in the history of this country, he alluded capture for over two decades."

"That's encouraging," Brass muttered.

"Encouraging or not, the fact remains that the Strangler has spread his crimes from one end of the country to the other over a period of twenty-seven years," Martinez offered. "He generally leaves an area around the time the scope of his crimes begins to draw focused attention. He moves to a new city where he starts over… the local authorities oblivious to what is happening until it's too late. After three to five years of killing at will, he moves again… and it all starts all over somewhere else."

Sighing, she added, "Until now, he hasn't made any serious mistakes or done anything to draw attention to him. Phil's told me you've taken to calling him Keyser within the task force. That's pretty depressingly accurate… 'poof' is all the warning those jurisdictions got that he was gone."

"Is that supposed to justify…" the Sheriff began.

"There's a huge difference between trying to understand what happened and justifying that it did," she asserted. "I can only give you the facts and try to make as much sense out of the insensible as possible."

Frowning, Burdette finally nodded. "This ends here; he doesn't get to take his horror show back on the road. Phil… what can the three of you tell us that will help nail this bastard?"

Trading a look with his colleagues, Phil Kane spoke for the first time. "Alexis has been working with Steve to develop a computer program that analyzes autopsy data to generate a physical description of a killer or attacker. The program is still in its beta form, but we all agree this case has more than adequate information available to allow them to us it. While we wanted to update you on what the FBI has found, we also wanted to get your permission to use their software in hopes of giving us a refined and enhanced description of the Strangler."

Kane added, "This software is a large part of the reason I first consulted with them, Sheriff. I've been helping critique some of their findings and I was hoping they'd feel the software was ready to use. Its potential is amazing."

"But, it's still a work in progress," Brass bottom-lined. "Just how reliable are the findings?"

Steve Baldwin, a criminology professor at WLVU, replied, "We wouldn't be here if we didn't feel it has real merit, Captain. Like Phil said, we have a lot of material to work with in this investigation. If the description it produces is consistent from case to case, that should tell us a lot. We're very confident the physical description we'll be able to offer will be very close to your killer… very close."

"Run us through the methodology," Grissom requested. "I'd like to hear a little more so that we have a better understanding of what it involves."

Nodding, the criminologist began, "The software generates a physical description of an assailant based on the injuries inflicted on the victim. This program takes the type and location of any injury and maps them to a virtual 'victim'. Using enhanced autopsy pictures, it measures depth, angle, and finger position… finger size, if possible, on bruising from strangulation. It adds in injuries or marks from other parts of the victim's body that provide indicators of the killer's physical characteristics… the angle and depth of a knife wound, for example. We'd like to use all of this information to generate a description of your killer." _(A/N --- the software is my own creation. I have no idea if something like it really exists.)_

"We've found that this application is ideally suited for rape cases," Martinez interjected. "Because of the intimate nature of the attack, the rapist's body is in immediate contact with the victim… in and on it to be exact, so relative comparisons of height, weight, even strength are possible."

"Well, unless one of my people can give me a reason not to," Burdette summarized, "I don't see we have many alternatives. We're chasing a ghost with almost 30 years of practice in evading law enforcement. At this point, we'll take all the help we can get."

"There's one other thing we wanted to discuss with you… a refinement to our earlier profile," Kane interjected. "Based on what we now know about his history, we'd suggest looking for incidents where women, especially prostitutes, reported a partner that took sexual asphyxia too far… incidents where they nearly died or seriously feared for their lives."

"The desire to strangle is a large part of his pathology," Martinez added. "It's a very specific type of torture and violence that drives him as opposed to the desire to inflict pain by a variety of other means. The damage to the bodies inflicted post mortem isn't part of what 'gets him off'… the strangling is. It may be possible he still tries to have conventional encounters with women… but I'd be surprised if he can completely control his desires once he's aroused. If we're right, you may be able to get a description from one of his victims that lived… someone that has no idea how lucky she is to be alive."

-----

"Jim… honey, I know how busy you are, but… I need your help."

Reacting to the urgency in Casey's voice, Jim offered, "Sure, baby. What's up? You sound rattled."

"Chloe was in an accident on the way to the airport… actually on the road to the rental car drop-off," she replied. "She called me… I'm on my way there. The police want to send to her to the hospital to be checked out, but she's refusing… frankly, she's not making much sense at all. Can you meet me at the scene and help me talk some sense into her hard head?"

-----

4-16-2009


	14. Chapter 14 Of Myths and Legends

Title: By Design, Chapter 14

Author: Sorsha_711  
Fandom/Pairing: CSI; Brass/OCF  
Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations  
Disclaimer: A quick check of my bank account should prove I'm not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh! Anything you recognize belongs to the good people that bring us CSI.  
Summary: A serial killer is stalking the streets of Vegas… hell of a time for Brass to meet the woman of his dreams.

By Design, Chapter 14 --- Of Myths and Legends

-----

A young uniformed officer turned to watch Brass's approach. "The car Ms. Malone was driving was t-boned by a car coming from the main terminal. Looks like she hit her head against the driver side window… she's woozy and disoriented. The EMT's think she may have other internal injuries. I haven't been able to get much out of her."

"What about the other driver?"

"EMS just transported him and his passenger… names are Philip Palmer and Tiffany Waltrop. Pending blood tests, I'd say they were both well over the legal limit," the officer replied. "Mr. Palmer was bleeding from an… injury and was non-responsive. EMT's said he'll need of emergency surgery. Given the nature of his injuries… I suspect he's in a lot of pain."

"OK, I'll bite," Brass offered, instantly recognizing the hint of gallows humor in the uniformed officer's voice. "What's so funny?"

A huge grin overtook the young woman's features. "Interesting choice of words, Captain. It appears that Ms. Waldrop was… thanking Mr. Palmer for bringing her with him to Vegas. The EMT treating him was pretty sure the doctors will be able to reattach his…"

Trying not to wince, Jim quickly interjected, "Right. I get it. What about Ms. Malone?"

"EMS wants to transport her but she's refusing treatment," the officer replied, her smirk still in evidence. "Dispatch let us know you were in-route, so we've been waiting on you before we released them. Ms. Edgers arrived about ten minutes ago and has calmed her down, so maybe you can convince her to let them transport her."

"Thanks… good work," Brass praised, moving toward the two women huddled on the back step of the ambulance. "Did the security cameras pick-up the wreck?"

"Yes, sir. I've already received a copy," she replied, extending the cd in his direction. "Do you want it or should I…"

"Drop it by the Lab… give it to Archie Johnson. Tell him I'll stop by later today to review the tape," Brass instructed. "Make sure dispatch let's me know if either Palmer or Ms. Waldrop don't make it."

"Right, Captain," the officer responded, "I'll take care if it."

Crouching in front of the two women, he asked, "Chloe? It's Jim. How are you feeling?"

Dazed green eyes struggled to focus on his face. "Jim… I…"

"You're going to let them take you to the hospital, Chloe. You took a hard blow to the side of your head and need to let the doctors make sure you're ok," Jim interjected, immediately realizing she was too dazed to be thinking clearly. "With head injuries, we don't take any chances."

"I'm fine… just a headache…"

"Humor us," he insisted. "Casey can go with you in the ambulance, but you need to go now. You probably have a concussion… we know you have a headache… your eyes aren't focused, so they need to be sure it's nothing more serious. You need to see a doctor."

"But… I have a flight in…"

"Doctor first," Jim repeated. "Until then, none of us want you on a plane three miles up and out of a doctor's care."

Seeing her nod faintly, he rose and motioned to the EMT's. "Ms. Malone is ready to go. Her friend is riding along to make sure she behaves."

-----

Dropping a thick file in the center of conference table, Sam fixed his supervisor with a tired frown. "Do you have any idea how many urban legends, myths… hoaxes… scams are floating around out there in cyberworld?"

A ripple of amusement circled the table as Brass took a sip of his coffee. "Do I want to know?"

With a frustrated shake of his head, Vega took a seat behind the file. "Probably not. Sanders got us a copy of the email that alarmed Karen Lieu; she still had it. She's been spamming the internet with repeated mailings… even added an account of her encounter."

"So… is there any way to verify if the message was based on a real incident?" Sofia asked. "Hell, I get one or two of those 'Share this with all the women you know' messages every month."

"You're not alone," Sam responded. "There are hundreds of warning messages out there… man hiding in the backseat with a knife… killer disguises himself as old lady to lure victims… the good Samaritan that helps change a flat then needs a ride to his car… or 'wouldn't you like to star in a commercial we're filming in the parking lot'… the abandoned baby in a van con that's really a doll and a tape of a baby crying…"

Holding up his hand, Brass interjected, "Got it. So, are they all hoaxes?"

"No… but most are," Sam supplied. "I talked to Griggs over at Cyber Crimes. He says most of these messages are pure fiction… updated retellings of old ghost stories or the plots of b-movies. They're written to play to women's fears… the details just specific enough to sound legit."

Pausing to take a sip of the cup of coffee Joe Vartann slid in his direction, Vega added, "But Griggs says you can't dismiss all of them as entirely a hoax. Some are real… or almost real."

"How the hell can they be almost real?" Vartann asked. "Isn't that kind of like being a little bit pregnant?"

"We're talking the internet, so real is relative," Sam countered. "These emails are mostly about seeing how many people you can get to pass the message along. Griggs says some have elements of truth… a detail from a real case, like car thieves using stolen VIN's to get a duplicate key to your ride… or carjackers trying to get a driver to pull over by making them think they have a slack tire. Both of have happened, but the stories that circulate with them are mostly crap designed to scare someone… generate spam."

"So… is the one about the Baseball Cap Killer A, B, or C?" Jim pressed.

"Sanders… one of Grigg's techies, and I spent most of the last two nights tracking that one back as far as we could… even talked to several 'hoax busters' Griggs says are legit," Vega reported, "…and there is a strong probability that at least part of the story is true. It looks like the original message was sent by a real crime victim, but subsequent senders added or embellished parts of the story as it circulated the web. Whether or not the add-ons are true is still pretty sketchy. By the time a message makes it around the world a few dozen times, it takes a lot of effort to verify its content."

Leaning forward, Jim demanded, "How did they verify this one?"

"They were able to trace the original message back to a woman that lived in a small town near Minneapolis in the mid-90's," Sam began. "Her husband produced a police incident report to back up her story."

"Minneapolis?"

"Yeah, that registered for us too." Passing his boss several sheets of paper, he explained, "Here's the text of the email she started along with the one from Karen Lieu. According to… Claudia Fontenelle, the local police thought she'd had a close encounter of the dangerous kind with the man responsible for a killing two months earlier in the same town. The other woman was raped and strangled… body dumped in the woods. I've requested a copy of the files on both cases."

"How did that lead to the email?" Sofia asked, accepting the printouts as Brass passed them along.

"She became obsessed with finding him… apparently felt guilty she had gotten away and the other woman hadn't. She sent the first warning about six months after her encounter with him… tagged him the Baseball Cap Killer," Sam supplied. "I spoke to a detective involved in the original investigation… seems she started dogging the case… scouring the papers looking for other possible cases. Claudia thought he might be responsible for other unsolved murders in the greater Twin Cites area… some of the ones the FBI linked to our killer. Sadly…"

"Sadly," Brass prompted.

"Claudia Fontenelle disappeared in 1999… four years after her encounter detailed in that email. Her body was found two years later near the Canadian border," Vega replied. "Her car was found in the same parking lot where she was almost grabbed… she was still working at the same store."

"He got her… the bastard came back and got her," Brass muttered, frustrated and infuriated by this news.

"That was the conclusion her family reached, but the local police are still hesitant to make that connection between the two incidents," Vega reported, his expression conveying his opinion of that decision. "The detective I spoke too finally admitted that, **if** Claudia's disappearance was tied to the others, she was one of the last he grabbed before he left the area… on his way to New Orleans."

"Run the details of her encounter for us," Brass instructed, breaking the brittle silence that had descended on the room in the wake of Vegas's report.

Flipping open his pad, Vega supplied, "Claudia worked at a grocery store near her home. One night after work, she found her driver's side rear tire flat… slashed. Before she could go back inside to call her husband, a man appeared out of the blue… she never was able to tell them from where. Her Good Samaritan offered to give her a hand."

"At first, she thought she'd gotten lucky… until he claimed to have a different jack in his van that was easier to use than the one she had… went to get it. That didn't make much sense to her… she had a small car, standard jack; that put her on guard," he continued. "Instead of just getting the jack, he came back in his van… parked it between her car and the store. She immediately realized she was in trouble… took off running. The man made a grab for her, they struggled… she got away. He tore ass out of the parking lot before she got to the door."

"Did she manage to get anything… a tag number… make and model of the van?" Sofia questioned.

Looking up, Vega fixed her with a grim stare. "The store manager heard her screaming… was out the door in time to catch a partial… out-of-state tag, beginning with SP… or 8P… maybe SB. Both he and the vic ID'ed the van as a white Econoline."

"Damn! This bastard is keeping to his original game plan, down to the type of van he uses," Brass exclaimed. "Did they get anywhere in tracing it?"

"They got a few possibles, but they didn't have a state of origin to focus a search. The witness wasn't able to conclusively ID anyone… it was dark, he had on a ball cap pulled down shadowing his face," Sam complained. "I spoke with a detective in their cold case unit and requested access to whatever they have. It may be a few days."

"Pack a bag; I'll have Connie book you a flight," Brass ordered. "I want you there, looking over their shoulders."

"You want me to make the rounds of the other jurisdictions that had cases?" Vega questioned, mentally preparing himself for the coming argument with his wife. The demands of this investigation had put a strain on his relationship with his family… a problem many of the other members of the task force were facing. "I'll need to give them a call and let them know to expect me… maybe have the files out and ready."

"You'll be in the neighborhood," Brass agreed. "I'll give Alexis Martinez a call… the local FBI office may have a lot of those files. I'm assuming they don't know about these two cases if the locals are still saying they're unrelated."

"I asked," Sam inserted. "They haven't been contacted by the Feds, so safe to assume they don't."

"I'll clue her in. Maybe the Feds can run down the origins of the other 'urban legends' you mentioned… see if there's anything to them. I'm also assigning a detail to Karen Lieu… protective custody if she's willing," the older policeman announced. "If we're dealing with the same man, he came back for one victim. I'm not running the risk of letting him do that a second time on our watch."

-----

"How's she doing?"

Looking up at the sound of his voice, Casey gave him a tired smile as she gratefully accepted the cup of coffee he extended in her direction. "The doctors say she'll be ok. The swelling wasn't as bad as they first thought, so they didn't have to take her to surgery."

"That's encouraging," he soothed, studying the still face of the woman lying in the bed.

"Yeah," she agreed. "She has a nasty concussion and a couple of broken ribs… right collarbone. All in all, it could have been a lot worse."

Leaning down to drop a kiss on the top of her head, he deposited a bag of pastries on the small table to her left. After taking a sip from his own cup, he asked, "Has she been awake since they brought her up?"

"She's in and out," Casey responded, relaxing slightly now that he was there. "She knows I'm here and it seems to help her focus, so I'm staying… at least until Richard and their girls arrive."

Nodding in understanding, he prompted, "When do you expect them?"

"They're on the red-eye out of JFK, so they should be here by 9 or 9:30," Casey reported, leaning over to peek inside the bag. Pulling out a cherry Danish, she began to nibble. "Richard's been calling every half-hour for updates. He's terrified its worse than I'm telling him or that something will go wrong before he can get here. I feel for him. It must be hell being so far away."

"Yeah, I would imagine." Rolling his neck in hopes of relieving the tense muscles, Jim asked, "What about her parents and brothers? Are they coming too?"

"Richard handled contacting them," she replied. "From what he said, Robert and his latest Twinkie will be here by late tonight… they were on Montserrat, so getting a flight is a little more complicated than flying from New York. Helen and her husband will be here around noon."

"I still have to wrap up a couple of things before I can call it a night, but I can keep you company for a little while," Jim offered, pulling up a chair to her right. "Do you need me to pick them up at the airport?"

"Lauren called last night and offered to meet Richard and the girls for me," she responded, referring to her office manager. "The others can get a cab. I asked her to reserve three suites at the Venetian for the next few nights. Depending on how long they keep her, I can always stay at your place and let Richard use my house once everything is under control and the others go home."

"Looks like you have everything covered… and you're more than welcome to stay with me as long as you like," he agreed, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. "Did you want to try and get a little sleep while I'm here?"

"Now that I've eaten, I'll be fine," she responded, smiling as he raided the bag for a cinnamon bun. From the fine scattering of sticky crumbs on his tie, she knew he's already had at least one. "I'll go home once Richard's here and I'm sure everything is under control"

"Why don't I run back by once I finish up at headquarters? I had a patrol take your car home after you left with Chloe in the ambulance," he proposed, pulling her a little closer. "I'll sleep better if I know you're home and OK."

"Ditto, love." Resting her head against his shoulder, she asked, "What's happening with the other driver?"

"He'll be charged with felony drunk driving once he's recovered enough to be arraigned," he replied. "Apparently, he's in town for a conference… along with his mistress. Video of the intersection shows him blowing through the stop sign… pun intended."

Puzzled blue eyes lifted to meet his. "What…?"

"His companion was thanking him for the trip in a very special way at the time of the crash," Jim clarified. "Between that and the alcohol in his system, I doubt he even saw the stop sign."

"You're kidding, right? She was…"

"Yep… Linda Lovelace would have been impressed. Force of the impact caused her to bite down… took it completely off. Doctor's performed reattachment surgery, so all his parts should work again… at least temporarily," Jim completed. "His wife may undo all their hard work once she gets here."

"Let me guess… his secretary?"

"Personal assistant." Sipping his coffee, he added, "Apparently, he arrived on an earlier flight hoping to fool his wife into thinking he was going alone. Tiffany was on a flight two hours after him. He picked up their rental car and was waiting for her in an airport bar. Seems he was having so much fun when she got there, she joined him. Three hours later… the rest, as they say, is history."

Casey noted. "Maybe in a few years, we'll be able to laugh about this, but… I somehow doubt it."

Nodding, Jim concluded, "Probably not. Tiffany broke her jaw in the crash… airbag impacted the side of her head forcing it into his body. Between that and the other injuries she sustained, she's lucky to be alive."

Frowning, she pressed, "She's going to make it, right?"

"They're still guarded about her recover… they have her listed as stable, so I guess that's a good sign," he supplied. "They won't know if she suffered any brain damage for a few more days… tests and time."

Feeling her nod, he pulled her a little closer as he asked, "So… are you up to dealing with your ex?"

"No… but I don't plan to go out of my way to avoid him either. I don't plan to let that bastard control my life ever again," she asserted. "Richard and the girls will need my help until Chloe's able to go home. I'm the only family they have here."

Pressing a kiss to the top of her head, he promised, "Good… and your family is my family, baby."

-----

"I thought you'd have left for the day."

Looking up, Brass nodded. "I thought so too, but I had to came back to make some follow-up calls after I talked to Karen Lieu."

"She refused a detail?"

Sighing, he explained, "I didn't make it half way through my spiel about erring on the side of caution, yadda yadda yadda, when she had a total meltdown. She's at McCarran waiting on a plane to Taiwan as we speak. Her parents have family there, so they're sending her to stay with them until we catch this bastard. Mitch and Freidman are sitting on her until her plane goes wheels-up."

"Freidman?"

The hint of a smile accompanied, "He's just a warm body to back up Mitch."

Dropping wearily into the chair across from him, Sofia observed, "Well, she should be safe from Keyser in Taiwan. Do you need me to contact the Taiwanese police to alert them to the situation or do you have that covered?"

"Done… but thanks for the offer," Jim responded. "Her uncle's a local official in the village where she's going, so she should be ok."

"That's one less thing we have to worry about," she agreed, noting the exhausted, haggard cast to his features. "Did you get any sleep before your last shift?"

"Nope, not in the cards. Casey called just after the task force meeting yesterday… a friend of hers was in a car accident on the way to the airport," he explained. "Drunk driver went through an intersection… friend's in the hospital with broken bones and a concussion. I spent the day running back and forth between the hospital and here."

"Ah, I heard about the castration by airbag and was wondering why you were involved in that case," she replied.

After yawning broadly, he nodded. "I was heading out the door when her call came in. Chloe was dazed and not thinking clearly… Casey was hoping I'd be able to get through to her. I sat with Case for a several hours… it was touch and go far a while, so I didn't want to leave her alone to worry. By the time the doctors had her stable, it was too late to bother heading home, so I reported for shift."

Watching him rub distractedly at his neck, Sofia frowned. "So, let me translate… it's after 9… you haven't slept in over 36-hours; you're about ready to drop. Go home. We'll hold it together until you get back tonight."

"No doubt," he acknowledged. "I plan to run back by the hospital first and pick up Casey. She was there all night. Chloe's husband and daughters arrived a little while ago, so I'd like to lure her out of there long enough to get some sleep."

"Sleep? That's what you're offering?"

A tired snort of amusement preceded, "I appreciate the vote of confidence in my stamina, but sleep is it. I'm running on fumes at this point."

"We've all been doing too much of that lately," she confessed. "I got a long lecture over dinner last night. Denny's worried I'm not sleeping enough… stressed out all the time."

Seeing his nod of understanding, she let an easy silence settle around them for a few minutes. Hesitating, she finally admitted, "I hate to drop this on you just as you're getting off, but I have a couple of things to run by you."

Leaning back in his chair in hopes of finding a comfortable position, he urged, "Shoot."

"I spoke to Gil a few minutes ago and he asked me to tell you he's tied the body over in Mono County, California to the Strangler… rope fiber and the same oily compound we found on a couple of other victims were found on the body" she supplied. "Hodges is still working on ID'ing the latter."

"I was expecting that," Brass admitted, letting his head drop back against the high back of his chair. "We have a name yet?"

"No, but Teri Miller's in town to help ID our remaining Jane Does," the younger detective reported. "She'll probably have something by the time your next shift starts. She's already given us one clue to ID'ing her."

"And that is?"

"Based on her initial review, Teri says the victim was Native American," Sofia supplied.

"Have you had time to run a missing persons match?"

"I talked to Dani Guthrie on my way to your office and she said he'd run a search for us," Sofia substituted. "She may have something by the end of the day."

"OK, I'll check in with her then," Jim acknowledged. "What else?"

"Well… as you know, Joe and I've been looking for open rape or assault cases that fit the most recent profile Kane and company gave us," she began. "Herb Landon over in Vice called this morning… they've found a couple of incidents where a hooker had a nasty run-in with a trick that was into strangling… almost took it too far. I've cleared the hours with my captain, so I'm heading home to crash for a while so I can ride along with their guys tonight… see if we can find them."

"They formally filed complaints on their johns?"

"Three did," she replied. "Their descriptions of their attacker line up… fit what little we've got in the way of a description, so I'm betting it's the same guy… maybe our killer."

"Where did they pick this guy up?"

"Two of them work a stroll near the Neon Moon strip club," the junior detective answered. "The other works out of one of those fleabag motels near the air base."

"OK, keep me posted," he ordered, "…and be careful. Vice's never an easy gig, especially here in Vegas."

Recognizing the exhaustion in his tone, she rose to leave. "Get some sleep and maybe we'll know more by the time you get back tonight."

-----

The smell of roasting chicken slowly penetrated the deep sleep that had claimed him. A bleary blue eye cracked open and struggled to focus on the bedside table… only to discover the clock wasn't in its usual location. A faint smile brightened his face as that realization quickly lead to another… his clock wasn't there because this wasn't his bed. It also explained the aroma of cooking food.

/Casey./

Rolling onto his back, he looked at the chest of drawers near his feet. It had amused him the first time he'd noticed where Casey kept her alarm clock. Her rueful, "I can't have it where I can reach it… I'd snooze away the entire morning some days," had prompted him to confess his own lack of desire to get out of her bed. She had been late… very late, for work that morning. Apparently, her staff had smiled knowingly as she tried to blame her tardy arrival on sore muscles from too much hiking on their trip to the Grand Canyon. His crew hadn't bought that line either when he had walked in late for their Monday morning briefing.

/Probably the fact I was grinning from ear to ear didn't help,/ Jim silently admitted, an echo of that smirk tweaking his lips.

A grunt of satisfaction accompanied his confirmation of the time. /5:58… a little over seven hours, not bad. I might actually be able to make it through shift tonight without a gallon of coffee./

Reaching for the tv remote, Jim piled several pillows against the headboard before settling back to watch to the 6 o'clock news. Within a few minutes, he was wishing he'd gone in search of Casey and a shower first. /Shit… I hate it when the press makes it look like we're sitting around with our thumbs up our asses, not working a case hard! Hell, we've got people working this case 24/7… here and across the country./

"…the event organizers are expecting several thousand people to attend the candlelight vigil, scheduled to begin at 7:00 tonight in front of the Clarke County Law Enforcement Center. The Sheriff's Office has confirmed that Sheriff Burdette will be in attendance along with Captain Jim Brass, who is heading up the task force…"

The reporter hadn't finished her sentence before his cell phone began to ring. /Damn… this is going to be a hell of a long night!/

-----

"Look… look. We are continuing to generate fresh leads and every one of them is being followed as far as they take us. Every officer on the force is working this case in one way or another. We continue to work closely with law enforcement agencies around the area and the FBI. The Crime Lab is analyzing every scrap of evidence we've uncovered. We are doing everything possible to find his man before he kills again," Jim asserted. "This case is the top priority of the department and it will remain so until we find the person responsible for these murders."

"Capt. Brass… Capt. Brass… Capt. Brass…"

Pointing to a reporter from a local television station, Jim prompted, "Stan."

"How confident are you that the sketch of the killer you've released tonight is the man you're hunting?"

"I can't go into details, but the description used for that sketch was given to us by someone we believe had a close encounter with the killer. We feel very good about it. Carol," he prompted, acknowledging another reporter in the clamoring throng that had assembled to cover the candlelight vigil. The Sheriff had neatly handed them off to him and was standing nearby, his relief at not being the one at the center of that firestorm barely concealed.

"Capt. Brass… can you repeat the physical description of the killer?"

Stifling a sigh, he began, "Sure. We believe the killer is a white male, mid-to-late 40's, 6' to 6'1", muscular built… short medium-brown hair. He may regularly wear a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. He probably wears glasses."

"Is it true this guy is grabbing women out of parking lots?" The lights from the tv cameras made it impossible to see who had shouted the question from the back of the pack, but he answered anyway. The fact about the parking lots was one of the details of the case he was free to discuss.

"Our witness encountered him in a parking lot, just after dark. We have reason to believe several of the Strangler's victims were abducted from parking lots, late afternoon to early evening," Jim confirmed. "Bob."

"Recently there have been a number of articles in the New Orleans _Times-Picayune_ that claim the Strangler is responsible for a series of unsolved murders along the Gulf Coast a few years back. Is it true the Strangler has killed women in other parts of the country… that Vegas is his latest killing ground?"

"Yeah… we've managed to link those cases to our investigation," Jim admitted. "We're still pursuing leads generated from the evidence collected in those cases, so I can't say more at this time."

"Are there others in other places?"

Taking a deep breath, Brass hedged, "We're pursuing all leads… regardless of where they take us."

"Where has he killed…"

"Look… this is an active investigation," Brass interjected. "For obvious reasons, I can't and won't discuss the full extent of what we're doing to find this bastard. I can promise you, we're all doing everything possible to apprehend him before anyone else is hurt. We're leaving no stone unturned. Mike?"

"Based on this information, what can women in the Las Vegas area do to protect themselves until the Strangler is caught?" a reporter from the back of the pack shouted.

"The most important thing is to use good common sense. Be alert and vigilant, especially in parking lots or other places where it would be easy for an assailant to hide. Whenever possible, don't go out alone, especially after dark… the old adage there is safety in numbers is pretty good advice. Always be aware of your surroundings. Try to avoid deserted or isolated places. Remember to lock your doors… always have your keys out and ready before leaving a building or vehicle. The best advice I can offer is think ahead… don't knowingly put yourself in a situation where you're likely to be at risk."

"And if someone thinks they're in danger?" a woman's voice called.

"Take immediate action, but try not to panic. Run, call for help, dial 911… make as much noise as you can to attract attention… head for places where there are other people. Never, I repeat, never run into dark or deserted places or someplace where you can easily be cornered. Your safety is what matters, so if you're worried or feel threatened, don't wait. Get out and get help."

"What can the public do to help?"

"Anyone that has any information needs to call our 24 hour tip line immediately. A $250,000 reward is being offered for information that leads to the arrest of the Backroads Strangler. That number is…"

-----

Happy birthday Paul!!!

Feedback sure would be nice... pretty please!

4/28/2009


	15. Chapter 15 In the Gathering Darkness

Title: By Design, Chapter 15

Author: Sorsha_711  
Fandom/Pairing: CSI; Brass/OCF  
Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations  
Disclaimer: A quick check of my bank account should prove I'm not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh! Anything you recognize belongs to the good people that bring us CSI.  
Summary: A serial killer is stalking the streets of Vegas… hell of a time for Brass to meet the woman of his dreams.

A/N - Sorry for the delay in updating. I'm having a war with RL and loosing badly! LOL Feedback appreciated!

By Design, Chapter 15 --- In the Gathering Darkness

-----

Noting the deep grooves cut into his friend's features, Grissom offered, "Tough crowd tonight. You did a good job keeping the message on point."

"Tough crowd… lynch mob," Jim groused, "…tə'meɪɾoʊ, tə'mɑːtəʊ."

"Yeah, the Sheriff hang you out there," Nick noted from the doorway to the lab's main layout room. "Was it just me or did anybody else find it strange his golden boy Ecklie wasn't anywhere around?"

"The new Undersheriff was busy elsewhere… which translates as Burdette didn't want Ecklie's gilt to get tarnished if it blew up in my face," Brass growled. "I was already out on a shaky limb, but tonight I got nudged out to the end of the branch."

"Up a very tall tree with no safety net," Gil agreed. "The politics of this place are getting old fast."

"Nothing new there," Brass muttered, staring into the black depths of his cup of coffee as if he was looking for guidance… answers. "You've never been comfortable with the political crap that goes with our jobs."

"True," Gil acknowledged, "but… at the moment, you don't look all that comfort either. Are you OK?"

Looking up, Brass finally nodded. "I'll survive. I got a reprieve from the mob… at least for a little while longer."

"When we get this bastard, you'll be the man of the hour," Catherine promised, "the face of the investigation and Ecklie will be 'Conrad Who?'."

"I can live with being 'Jim Who' as long as we nail the son-of-a-bitch and soon," Jim countered. "Besides, this is a team effort, so it'll be persons of the hour."

"Ahem to getting him soon, regardless of who gets the credit," she agreed.

Taking a deep breath to clear his thoughts so that he could focus on the investigation, Jim prompted, "So… do we have a name for the body from Mono County?"

"Teri just finished the composite based on the victim's skull," Gil supplied. "We've compared it to pictures of missing Native American women Dani Guthrie provided… tentatively identified her as Opal Shirley."

"Are you good with that or is there a still room for doubt?"

Shaking his head, the scientist replied, "Dani found four possibles reported within the last year. Height and age were completely off on two of the four. The third didn't look anything like the composite but was a pretty good likeness for Opal."

Passing the detective a copy of the two images, Gil added, "Several details in the missing persons report match the autopsy findings. Opal was reported missing just over seven months ago by her mother… consistent with the TOD estimate. DNA's still pending… Robbins managed to recover a viable tissue sample from an impacted wisdom tooth. We'll run a mitochondrial match once we get a sample from her mother or sister… we should have something in a few days."

"OK… let's proceed internally with that ID for now… hold off releasing her name to the press until the DNA's back," Jim proposed. Seeing the nods of agreement from the CSI's, he prompted, "What do we know about her?"

"She was an artist… mostly custom jewelry… small statues and vases… that sort of thing. Opal sold her work at a couple of art galleries in the area," Nick supplied.

Moving the rest of the way into the room, Nick took a seat near the team's newest member, Riley Adams. "The day she disappeared, Opal went out to run errands. She called her sister just before 4… they shared a house west of the city, and confirmed plans for that evening. They were supposed to meet friends at a local restaurant to celebrate her success at an art exhibit the prior weekend, but she never showed."

"Nobody remembers seeing anything?"

Sighing, Nick shook his head. "Same as the others. Missing Persons interviewed family and friends… a few people she saw that day… nothing popped. I'll retrace her steps in the morning… maybe jog a few memories in the process. Now that we have the sketch and know a little more about Keyser's habits… maybe we'll get lucky."

"OK," Brass acknowledged. "Keep me posted. I'm heading back…"

"Before you go," Catherine interjected, "I need to warn you that… you can expect a call from Nye County. They're adding another name to their list of victims."

Clinching his eyes shut as the pounding headache that had set up shop behind his right eye began to hammer in earnest, he bit out, "Do we have name or do we have another Jane Doe to ID?"

Trading a concerned look with Grissom, she offered, "Susan Madden… 22. She lived in Pahrump until a few days before she went missing… had just moved into an apartment up in the Alphabets with a friend."

"Great! I've been feeling nostalgic for a trip to the hood," Brass groused. "Fill me in."

Grissom offered, "Her body was dumped near Round Mountain three months ago. Nye didn't include her on their list because Pahrump PD liked her boyfriend for her murder… got tunnel vision. The case against him fell apart last week when they finally tracked him down. He was in jail in Mexico awaiting trial for manslaughter when she went missing."

"Why had they fixed on him?" Jim asked, wearily leaning against a layout table.

"Susan had been living with him in a trailer park over there. Their shared love of the pipe seems to have been what kept them together," Catherine offered. "She worked at one of the local brothels until her habit got the better of her… crack, meth. The brothel fired her… she started working a stroll near a biker bar called _The Twisted Spoke_."

"Sounds like a slice of heaven," Brass muttered.

Glancing up from her notes to study him, she continued. "Once she ended up on the streets, she probably didn't earn enough to meet the need… and a rocky relationship got worse. Pahrump PD became a frequent visitor... domestic violence… disturbing the peace, you know the drill. Susan finally wised up and left after he tried to strangler her. She moved to Vegas before he made bail. When she went missing right after he got out, it seems like a slam-dunk he was the killer."

"OK," Brass acknowledged, "I get the picture. They're sure his alibi is solid?"

"Yeah," Catherine confirmed. "The boyfriend… Patrick Moffett, plumber by training, addict by choice, went to visit a Navy buddy in San Diego. They decided a weekend of excess in Tijuana was what they needed to change their luck… got into a knife fight with a couple of locals… things went downhill from there. The Navy tracked them down since Moffett's buddy was AWOL. Nye gave us a copy of the MP's report."

"Uncle Sam makes a great witness," Jim sighed. "And we're sure she's one of the Strangler's victims?"

Nodding, Gil opened the file on top of a stack to his left. As he pulled out a report, several photographs spilled out onto the glass surface of the table. The two on top captured Brass's attention.

The first was of a classic All-American teen beauty queen wearing a homecoming crown and sash. A second one, partially hidden under the file, was of the same woman… the mug shot of a prostitute. Drugs, abuse, and hard living had aged her prematurely; she could have passed for 50 rather than 20. The length of time separating the two pictures was a matter of only a few years… a lifetime as it turned out. The remaining pictures told the rest of the sad tale of Susan Madden's short life… a broken body dumped in a ditch… her autopsy.

"The friend she was living with saw her get into a light-colored van… they were working the same stroll near the Neon Moon as the women Sofia's tracking down," the CSI reported, oblivious to Brass's distraction. "Based on commonalities to the killer's MO and trace Nye recovered from the body, not much doubt she's one of his victims."

Forcing his eyes up to meet Grissom's, Jim responded with, "Did the roommate get a look at the van's driver? A partial on the plate?"

"According to the original interview, she was too far away. We haven't had time to re-interview her," Gil replied. "The friend… Sally Gibson, did remember seeing a big dent on the front passenger door. She thinks the van was white, but it was just beyond the range of a streetlight, so she couldn't be sure. Could be light grey or beige."

Sighing in frustration, Jim turned to leave. He'd seen enough… heard enough for now. "I'll give Nye a call. Vartann can do the follow-up with the friend."

-----

"Did he put her up to it?"

Taking a sip of coffee, Casey considered his question. "I doubt it… at least not in so many words, but… she probably thought she'd score points with him by trying to blame me for the accident. Apparently, I'm a 'no-class trouble maker' since I kept in touch with her after the divorce interfering with 'poor, dear Robert's' attempt to 'foster an adult relationship' with his daughter."

"So…" Jim began, a feral grin lighting his face, "is she still down in the ER having her head reattached or was she already too brain dead for them to bother?"

A tired chuckled preceded, "I plead the 5th, detective. Besides, any nineteen-year old that takes up with a wealthy eighty-year old man is nothing more than a very expensive prostitute… can't be for love… or even the sex. At least when I was married to him, Robert was still in his prime."

"You mean my age," Jim teased, leaning back so their waitress could deposit his plate of eggs and bacon in front of him. "Thanks, Kay."

"Well, prime definitely describes you," Casey agreed once the other woman had finished refilling their cups and wondered away. "Actually, I didn't have to say a word. Helen... Chloe's mother, stepped in before I could open my mouth. You could have knocked me over with a feather, but apparently, it's finally sunk in… at least for her, why their children have no use for either of them… and she said so. She suggested that if Robert wants an adult relationship with Chloe he'd first have to start acting the part himself."

"You'll have to tell Chloe when she's feeling a little better," Jim urged, reaching for the salt and pepper. "That will mean a lot to her."

Nodding, Casey accepted the salt shaker and began to lightly sprinkle her omelet. "I will. The best part was when she told Allie to be 'a good little girl and go sit quietly in the corner while the adults talk'… that maybe she could use the time to plot ways to get Robert to pay for a few more upgrades before he got bored with her and dumped her for a younger woman!"

Smirking, she added, "She's going to need a back brace in a few years to hold up that fake rack he's already installed… she tilts forward when she walks."

Sputtering on his coffee, Jim coughed to clear his windpipe before demanding, "Hey… give a guy a little warning! And, it he starts sleeping with girls younger than 19, he'll have more to worry about than his daughter's contempt. He's dangerously close to jailbait territory already."

"I'm trying to eat here. Talking about Robert's sex life isn't helping," she complained. "There are some mental images I just don't need."

Nodding in agreement, he asked, "How did Robert take Helen's comments?"

"Pissed him off royally," Casey replied, an unrepentant gleam in her blue eyes. "She could give lessons in 'button pushing'!"

Fixing her with a twinkling grin, Jim mused, "Maybe I better go to the hospital with you instead of going home. God knows you don't need lessons in attitude!!"

An amused snort was barely contained behind her napkin. "You're just looking for an excuse to get a look at my ex… confess!"

A wry shrug of his shoulders accompanied, "Well, he is the only man to get you to say yes."

"Yes to what?"

"Does 'I do' ring any bells?" he teased, amused by the rolling eyes his comment engendered.

"What yes? He never bothered to ask… from 'do you want to have sex' to getting married… or divorced for that matter. He just decided what he wanted and that was it. I was the idiot that let him get away with it," she complained. "Yeah, Robert is a great role model, Jimmy. You start taking lessens from him and I'll ask Helen for master's classes."

Holding up his hands in mock surrender, Jim proposed, "I'll agree to stick with my own lame skills and you agree to limit yourself to your already lethal talents with no help from either of them… deal?"

Reaching over to squeeze his hand, she whispered, "Not a damned thing lame about ANY of your skills, babe. You're the one that should be giving lessons."

"I prefer practical application to teaching," he murmured back, the now familiar feeling of being grounded by her presence in his life easing the tense set of his shoulders. "You inspire me."

-----

"Greetings from the frozen north," Vega announced as Jim answered his phone. "Thanks for sending me to Minnesota just ahead of a major March blizzard. I've been freezing my ass off since I got here."

"Yeah," Brass admitted, "I saw the weather report on CNN last night. Made any snowmen?"

Brass had no trouble picturing the disdainful glare that accompanied, "I don't do snow anything. There's a good reason why I live in the desert… I hate the cold."

"We all appreciate you taking one for the team," Brass replied. "You find anything to help us find Keyser?"

"Hopefully," Vega responded. "We've gone through the files and all the evidence from the two cases linked in that email. We found a few small blood smears on the blouse Claudia Fontenelle was wearing the night she had her first encounter with him."

"Blood? Hers or his?"

"O+… definitely not hers. Claudia's was AB+ which is pretty rare," Sam confirmed. "According to the file, she clawed her assailant's face while struggling to get away from him. She must have transferred the blood to her sleeves… probably hugging herself. Since they didn't have anything to compare it to, it was never processed beyond basic blood typing."

Feeling his tired body snap to attention, Brass demanded, "Please tell me they plan to have it tested."

"Already done. The local FBI lab matched the DNA from the blood on the blouse to the DNA we recovered from the Strangler victims," he supplied. "The same man is responsible for both attacks. They're going back over everything collected that night… and in the autopsy reports looking for clues. We may know something from that by the end of the week."

A flood of adrenaline coursed through him at the news. "OK… so where's the DNA match leading?"

"The FBI is going hard after the partial license tag number Claudia's boss provided during the original investigation. I'll keep you posted on what they find," Vega replied. "We're on our way to his house to re-interview him and see if we can get anything more from him. Doubtful it will be much since it's been fourteen years."

"Got to try," Jim agreed. "Have you talked to Claudia's husband yet?"

"He moved to Chicago a couple of years ago," Sam reported. "The FBI is sending an agent to interview him. Probably a long shot… if he knew anything, he'd have told the police years ago. The partial is our best lead so far."

"Good work," Jim praised. "I'll spread the word here."

-----

"You paged?"

Looking up to greet his supervisor, David Hodges reported, "I finally got something back from the Feds on that oily residue found on several victims."

Fixing him with a steady gaze, Grissom demanded, "And?"

Passing his supervisor the report on the mystery substance, he summarized, "It's an oil-based weather-proofing polymer… for use on wood. It's being tested as a green alternative to current products on the market. We should have a list of authorized test sites in the Las Vegas area by the end of the week."

"Why is this taking so long?"

Pointing to a line on the report, Hodges clarified, "The polymer is still being tested, so it's not in the standard database of known compounds. Add to that, there were other chemicals polluting the sample I sent them. It took a while to separate all of the components… isolate the proprietary processes being used to create the polymer. Now that we know what to look for… find me a source and I'll be able to match it based on those unique impurities… better than a DNA match."

-----

"Jim?"

"Hey, babe," he responded, ignoring the smirks from the other members of the task force sitting around him at the conference table as he swiveled around so his back was to them. "What's up?"

"I… well, you probably know this but… the lady in the paper this morning… Opal Shirley…"

Startled by the unexpected direction of their conversation, Jim pressed, "Yeah, OK. What…"

"I met her once… she's… was…" Casey began, only to falter as the reality they were discussing a murder victim unnerved her. "She was a metal artist… made lovely jewelry."

"OK… we know that," he agreed, anxious to see where this was leading. "Where did you meet her?"

"At one of those Friday night street parties in the Arts District," she replied, her voice wavering slightly. "She sold some of her work at a gallery next to the one that handles some of my photography. Opal was one of the featured artists that night. I bought several pieces from her."

"Do you remember when that was?"

A brief pause preceded, "Last fall sometime… September or October maybe. I can find out if it would help. I gave a couple of those pieces as Christmas gifts, so know it was around that time. The silver butterfly necklace I wear a lot is one of hers."

"Yeah, I know the one you mean," Jim replied, trying to focus on what questions to ask rather than the troubling fact their victim had disappeared within days of that event. If their theory that Keyser was stalking his victims was correct, it was possible she had crossed paths with a brutal killer. That thought made his blood run cold. "Does anything about that night stand out in your memory, honey? Do you remember talking to her? Did anyone in the area seem to be paying her a lot of attention?"

"Annie, my friend that owns the gallery had been trying to get me to come to one of those events since I moved here," Casey recalled. "You were out of town… or maybe you had to work… I don't really remember, but… I was at loose ends, so I ended up going on a whim. I talked to Opal for quite a while. She has… had a great sense of humor. Her work was extraordinary. I bought several pieces… but I already told you that."

"Nothing else stands out in your mind?"

"Not really," she replied, her regret at having nothing more to offer clear in her tone of voice. "I had my camera… took a bunch of pictures… even made a couple of short videos while she was doing demos of jewelry making. She drew a pretty big crowd, so maybe someone was… I have them all on a CD if it would help. I could make you a copy."

Surging to his feet, he praised, "Babe, that would be great. Where are you? I'll come by and get you…"

"I'm still at home, honey," she interjected. "I didn't have anything on my schedule until this afternoon, so I was planning to work at home for a bit before going by the hospital to visit Chloe."

"Great," he responded. "I'll be there in fifteen, twenty minutes depending on traffic. Can you have the CD ready?"

-----

"Hey, Jim… got a minute?"

Pausing in the hallway outside the AV Lab, Brass looked back to see Nick Stokes heading toward him. "Sure… what's up?"

"I just spoke to one of the FBI agents working the case out of their St. Louis office… a Special Agent Darren Coleman," Nick supplied, glancing up from his notes. "They've found a registration for a 1993 white Econoline… Missouri tag SPQ 807. The van was reported stolen August 3, 1994. Coleman and his partner talked to the RO… Thomas Johansson of Tilden, Missouri this morning. Mr. Johansson says he took the van to a local Ford dealership the afternoon it was stolen to get a problem with the sliding door fixed… it was jacked off the lot and never recovered. They faxed me a copy of the incident report."

Handing Brass the faxed information on the case, the CSI noted, "From what we've been able to piece together, Keyser was still in the St. Louis area in July of that year… that's when the last known victim of the Riverbanks Killer was abducted."

"What did they tell you about Mr. Johansson?" Jim prompted, scanning the faxed sheets.

"He was in a car wreck thirty years… lost his wife and daughter… ended up in a wheelchair. The van was customized with a lift and hand controls," Nick supplied. "He owns a local temp employment agency… pillar of the community, well liked by all accounts. He and his second wife still live in the same house as thirty years ago. His story seems to add up… but the FBI is nosing around to be sure."

"OK… keep me posted on the results of their follow-up," Brass requested. "Did the police get anywhere tracking the van?"

"Not a lot in the report, so I'm guessing they didn't put a lot of effort into finding it," Nick replied. "The report doesn't have much in it other than a list of the employees that worked at the dealership and the rap sheets on a couple of known boosters that worked the area. Coleman included everything they had when he faxed me the report… names, addresses… only their social security numbers were redacted. They're using them to track them down as we speak."

"So… another dead-end?"

"Maybe not. The police did bring in one possible suspect for questioning… a Jason Lidenberger. He had priors for car thief… long juvie rap sheet, but they weren't able to build a case against him," the CSI added. "He's doing life for murder at the Missouri State Pen… car jacking that went bad. Agent Coleman plans to interview him tomorrow… see if he knows anything. He promised to let me know what he finds out A'sap."

Brass' 'umm' in response to his report alerted the CSI that something had captured the veteran detective's eye in the thin stack of faxed pages. "You see something?"

Glancing up, Jim met Nick's gaze. "Yeah… the copy of what I'm assuming was a sticky note in the file says the license tag from the van was found on a Corolla pulled for speeding near Winton, Minnesota in October 1995. The owner… a Bradley Sampson, claimed he had no idea how it got on his car."

"Where is Winton, Minnesota?"

"No idea… but most of the bodies attributed to the Lakeland's Killer were dumped in rural parts of the state," Jim speculated. "The date of the traffic stop was a few weeks after Claudia Fontenelle had her encounter with the Strangler."

Frowning, Nick asked, "So… do you think the driver was involved in the thief of the van… maybe the murders?"

"We definitely need to check out the possibility… I think it's more likely the tags were switched and he really didn't notice. Think about it… how often do you look at your tag? You'd notice if it was missing, but not necessarily if it was a little different," Jim proposed. "Keyser had to know there was a chance either Claudia or her boss got all or part of the tag number. He's not going to put it on his own car and run the risk of calling unwanted attention his way… white vans are a dime a dozen, so swap out the tag and there's almost no chance of being pulled over."

Nodding, Nick mused, "OK… that does make sense… Keyser switches out tags to avoid a hot number and to keep the appearance of a street legal registration… trade out an expired or hot tag for a clean one. All he'd have to do is find a car in a dark parking lot one night and make a switch… five minutes tops."

"That's what I was thinking," Jim agreed. "Run a check on the real tag number for the Corolla… maybe it turned up again after the speeding ticket… and let's cover all our bases. Find out if the FBI has looked at Sampson before we dismiss him as a possible suspect."

"No problem," Nick responded. "I'll let you know if I find something."

"Good," Jim acknowledged, "and, while you're doing that, I'm going to give our friends down in New Orleans a call… get them to check into the possibility Keyser steals all his rides. It may explain how he's getting rid of our victims' vehicles… he's a booster and already has a network of buyers that don't ask embarrassing questions."

-----

"When's the auction on these items due to end?" Jim asked, a steely resolve darkening his blue eyes to midnight.

"Three days… 7:38 our time Monday night," Bill Griggs replied, pointing to the appropriate line on the auction page. "The item descriptions match the ones you got for Tina Ortiz's jewelry… Kate Spade bag… same list of designer clothing and shoes. I'd put serious money on the seller being Keyser… or someone bought this stuff from him. Either way, we're close."

"Yeah, it reads like the list in my report," Brass agreed, energized by the prospect. "If it's her stuff, he's held on to it for almost nine months. Either he's staggering the sales hoping we'll miss something from one of the older cases or he's having a liquidation sale before he pulls up stakes and leaves town."

"Yeah, that makes sense," Grissom agreed. "You've found three other auctions that play out over the next two weeks that fit our inventory of missing items, right? This may be a signal he's about to make a run for it. What are the dates on the other auctions?"

"One ends on Thursday… one next Friday, and the last a week from next Tuesday," Griggs supplied. "These lots seem to have most of the pricy items we've been looking for that haven't already been sold."

"And all the addresses for the sellers are local?"

"Yeah," Catherine confirmed. "Each lot has a different seller listed, but they all have Vegas or southern Nevada listed as their location. Hell, the last one even uses the ID TBS2009… as in, the Backwoods Strangler 2009."

"Arrogant prick," Brass muttered. "Were you ever able to match any of the items we rounded up from earlier sales?"

"We found several we're pretty sure were stolen from our vics, but the best we can say is they're probable," Catherine observed. "They had been wiped clean of any trace of DNA. Cecilia's cross was the only definite match based on the inscription."

"This may help," Grigg offered, with a smile directed at the beautiful CSI. "Several pieces of the jewelry included in these lots were registered with a thief protection service that encodes them with microscopic tags. In the case of a stone, it's actually etched into the surface hidden by the setting. It's almost impossible to see without their equipment even if you look with a jeweler's loop. It can't be altered or removed without damaging the stone."

"I've heard of that… a low-jack for your diamonds," she teased.

"That's about the size of it," he agreed. "Don't tell me you don't have a few rocks you need to insure."

"Right… I so wish," she retorted, giving an overly dramatic sigh. "I'm feeling good about this batch, especially the clothes. That's the exact outfit Tina was wearing down to the pink Manolo Blahniks. The odds of this not being her stuff, especially when you add in the rest… it's him."

"I'm sold," Jim agreed, trying not to smirk at the flirting pair. "What next? The Sheriff's already authorized me to use money from the night shift budget to buy anything that shows up on an auction site. I don't need to remind you both that I'd like to get that money back."

"Everybody knows you guys in Homicide have a padded budget," Griggs joked. "Suck it up, Brass, and take one for the team."

"Yeah, padded budgets and unlimited expense accounts," Jim groused. "I need the money back or the doors to Homicide may close before the end of the fiscal year."

"If you insist… Cyber Crimes will step in to save your ass," Griggs retorted. "Since this guy only accepts cashier's checks, we can mail him a phony check. It'll look good enough to fool the eye. I doubt he'll want to linger, so a quick look is all he'll give it. The plan will be to have our people in place when he arrives and grab him when he exits the store."

"Works for me," Jim approved. "So, how to be sure we score the win on the auction?"

"We have it already in the bag… the auction site is working with us thanks to a little pressure from the FBI," he promised. "Whatever the last, highest bid turns out to be, ours will be seven dollars and 11 cents higher… my lucky numbers. All we need to do is place the bid."

A sly smile brightened Catherine's face as she observed, "I've always wanted a Kate Spade bag… even if Jim won't let me keep it. I have an account at this site, so..."

Grinning, Griggs countered, "Maybe it would be better if you used one of the accounts we've already established for buys with out-of-town addresses in case he tries to check out the buyer before sending the purchase. We have accounts with bogus back histories in place to cover our tracks. You can still place the order… live vicariously by key strokes."

"Why Captain Griggs… do I look like the type of woman that's satisfied by vicarious anything?" she retorted, bright blue eyes twinkling with mischief. None of the other members of the CSI team present had missed the immediate chemistry that had sprung to life between the pair. Relieved smiles were carefully hidden as the group stayed carefully on the sidelines. This was the first time Catherine had shown any interest in flirting since Warwick's death and none of them wanted to mess it up.

"On that note…" Jim interjected, "I'm out of here. Keep me posted."

"Coward," Gil muttered as he began to gather his files so he could escape to his own office. Happy as he was to see the sparkle returning the Catherine's eyes, flirting reminded him of how much he missed Sara… how empty his own life had become since she left.

-----

"I'm getting too old for phone sex."

A tired laugh preceded, "Do you think anyone would mind if we ran off somewhere for a few days… weeks maybe? This is getting to be a regular thing… not getting to see you for several days at a stretch. I know I'm being selfish, but I miss you, Jimmy."

"I miss you too, babe. Forget a few days… I was thinking a few decades sounds about right," Jim proposed.

"Count me in… I'm ready to start packing," she sighed.

"When did you get home last night?" Jim asked. "You didn't sound optimistic of an early night when we talked."

"It was after midnight… I didn't get out of the office all day except for a quick visit to the hospital. I felt like I spent most of the evening herding cats. My crew was in a hyper mood, so I had to stay behind them all evening," she complained, a hint of amusement alerting him she wasn't entirely serious. "Apparently, there was some sort of a game on television last night they all wanted to watch."

"Just the NCAA championship game," he teased. "No big."

"The NC-what's-its? Is that supposed to mean something to me?" Casey asked, a smile now clearly audible in her voice. "From the looks I was getting last night, I take it I was supposed to understand and feel their pain."

"Round-ball… March Madness? None of that registers?"

"Other than the obvious incentive of eyeing up hot young men in shorts I never got the fascination for dribbling and dunking," she retorted.

"Well, since you know enough to know dribbling and dunking, you know enough," he admonished. "Cut the clueless act, doll-face… and stop trying to make me jealous. Eyeing up… I'll show you eyeing up!"

"Now that sounds promising! My big bed is pretty comfy, but it's kind of lonely without you in it."

"I had the same thought when I crashed for a few hours," he agreed. "Between your helping with Chloe and project deadlines… my doubles… can you email me a recent picture to refresh my memory so I'll recognize you the next time I see you?"

"Just what type of pictures are you asking for, Jimmy-boy?" she teased, her voice pitched to a silky purr that would put most phone sex operators to shame. "Do I need props?"

Hearing Jim coughing as he tried to clear the sip of coffee he had inhaled from his windpipe, Casey began to laugh.

"Props???"

-----

5-12-2009


	16. Chapter 16 The Wrong End of a Telescope

Title: By Design, Chapter 16

Author: Sorsha_711  
Fandom/Pairing: CSI; Brass/OCF  
Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations  
Disclaimer: A quick check of my bank account should prove I'm not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh! Anything you recognize belongs to the good people that bring us CSI.  
Summary: A serial killer is stalking the streets of Vegas… hell of a time for Brass to meet the woman of his dreams.

By Design, Chapter 16 --- The Wrong End of a Telescope

-----

Hanging up the phone, Brass offered, "That was the FBI agent in Missouri… Darren Coleman. He interviewed Jason Lidenberger. He's doing life at Jefferson City Correctional denied stealing the van, but he admitted… for a deal, he knew who had… Carl Johansson, the owner's youngest son."

"His son?" Sofia exclaimed, a surge of adrenaline causing her to snap erect from the lounging position she had been occupying in the doorway to his office. "He's sure?"

"Seems Carl was a heroin addict in urgent need of some money… with a bad habit of running his mouth," Jim supplied. "He knew where his dad kept the spare keys to the van… when he planned to take it in for repairs. Lidenberger knew someone who knew someone who… you get the drill, was in the market for a van, no questions asked, so he passed the tip along to Carl for a finder's fee. Carl sold the keys to the buyer who simply drove it off the lot when nobody was looking. Carl got the money for the van and his dad got a new ride thanks to insurance."

"Was the father in on it?"

"Hard to say… but, if he wasn't, he had to have figured it out when he noticed the spare keys were missing," Brass speculated. "Thomas Johansson is a close friend of the police chief, so… when Lidenberger pointed the finger at Carl, the cops dropped the investigation and the case went cold… just another unsolved car theft."

Sighing, Sofia summarized, "So, they let the insurance take the hit and looked the other way. We've all seen it happen… usually for less."

"Yeah… we all have," Ray O'Riley muttered, taking a seat on the couch against the office's far wall. "Can Carl give us anything on the guy he sold the van to?"

"Carl Johansson was found dead three weeks later on the side of a dirt road in southern Illinois… GSW to the back of the head," the senior detective replied. "At the time, the police thought his drug habit had gotten him killed… he got involved with the wrong dealer and ended up on the wrong side of a Beretta. The FBI is looking into the possibility he was killed by the Strangler to eliminate the threat of Carl running his mouth to the wrong person."

"Damn!" Vartann complained. "Just how many bodies has this bastard left behind? It seems like we're finding another one every time we turn a corner."

"On that note… add in six more from Baltimore… Alexis Martinez called last night," Brass added. "The cases in Philly are still under review, but she expects confirmation they're tied to him within a few days. That's another eight."

"Shit!"

"Yeah, my thoughts exactly," Jim agreed. "Anyway, Carl's dead. The FBI's tearing his life apart looking for anything that might give us a lead. His dad's lawyered up… FBI is threatening to go after him for insurance fraud… maybe conspiracy to commit murder if he knows who his son sold the van to and withheld the information."

"Hasn't the statue of limitations run out on the fraud?" Sofia asked. "It's been fifteen years."

"I asked," Brass offered. "They plan to argue Keyser's crimes were facilitated by the fraud. Since those crimes are still ongoing, the statue of limitations hasn't expired. They're hoping he'll deal… maybe scare his buddy the police chief into stepping up and sharing whatever they found that made them cover for Carl."

"He can kiss his pension goodbye," O'Rielly observed.

"He'll be lucky not to be occupying the cell next to Johansson," Brass growled. "He covered up one crime, facilitating insurance fraud in the process. If he had done his job, Keyser might have been caught back then and over fifty women might still be alive."

"When you put like that…"

"How else can I put it?" Brass interjected. "He had to know anybody wanting to buy a hot VAN off the radar wasn't planning to use it for Sunday picnics. Use you head, damn it!"

"We all know…"

"Yeah, we all know," Brass bit out, "but there's a huge difference between looking the other way on a parking ticket and covering for insurance fraud!"

A tense silence settled over the office as the other members of the task force took a moment to study the room's utilitarian carpet. Still glaring, Brass continued. "The FBI is tracking down the cops that handled the original investigation… maybe they know something. One of them left the Tilden PD not long after Carl's death, so… maybe it rubbed him the wrong way having to cover up his involvement in the van thief. We'll see."

"Could Lidenberger give them a description… alias… address?" Sofia questioned, wanting to refocus the team to the case, not the tension flowing between Brass and the older cop.

Nodding, Jim replied, "He's agreed to sit down with a sketch artist in exchange for time off his sentence. The only name he had was a street tag… Rocky. Lidenberger thinks he was an amateur boxer… which would explain the muscular build. Coleman's checking the records for the Boxing Commission in St. Louis for anything that fits… will let us know once he has something."

"In the mean time," he concluded, "Joe, you and Ray start making the rounds of the local gyms and see if Keyser's still spending time in the ring. He may go by Rocky, but I wouldn't bet on it. Ask if anyone has come on the scene in the last couple of years, especially any with ties to cities where the Strangler lived."

-----

Discretely studying the young women across from him, Brass gently prompted, "You're sure about when this happened?"

Trading tearful looks, the three women nodded. The tall redhead on the right whispered, "Yeah… it was about a week before she… disappeared. That Mustang was like her baby, so Libby was really upset."

Nodding, Jim asked, "Did she report the accident to the police?"

"I called it in for her… a cop came and filed a report… didn't do much," the second roommate, a tall leggy blond named Cindy, confirmed. "Libby was ranting… so not like her. She was usually so sweet. That was the only time I ever heard her get really mad."

"What made you recall this event…" Jim pressed, "… after all, it's been almost nine months?"

Speaking for the first time, the petite blond in the middle admitted, "Well… it seemed kind of… I don't know… insignificant at the time, you know? I mean a fender bender in the parking lot was pretty minor stuff compared to… Then we saw you on TV the other night… when that reporter asked you if the Strangler was grabbing his victims out of parking lots. That got us thinking."

"OK, sure," Brass prompted, secretly doubting if thinking was something they did very often. /Did she say her name was Jeri or Keri?/ "Tell me exactly what happened from the beginning."

"Well… Libby left to go to her therapy session," Cindy began. "She went after work… you know… to work her knee so she could go back to dancing."

"And… like we heard this loud shouting and we just knew it was her… Libby I mean," the third one /Keri?/ interjected. "I ran to the door and she was standing in the middle of the parking lot arguing with this guy. He looked really pissed, so I yelled at him to back off."

"And, like I saw it too… over Jeri's shoulder. It was like she said," the redhead added. "He was getting seriously PO'ed at Libby for yelling at him… but he got out of there in a big hurry when we let him know we were there to back her up."

Holding up his hand to halt the barrage of words, Jim asked, "Ok… when you say he got out of there… do you mean he ran off or did he get into a car?"

Pausing to think, Jeri offered, "He walked off… looked really pissed, you know, into the stairwell of the building across from ours. I don't know which apartment he went into… or, I guess he could have walked through to the street. That building backs up to the street, so he could have just walked off. I don't remember seeing him again."

"I do," Cindy inserted. "I had a date that night… and he was in the parking lot when we got back. I pointed him out to Tony… and he told me he saw him leaving when he went down to get something out of the car. He knew I was worried about him hanging around, bothering Libby."

"Did… wait. What's Tony's full name?"

"Why…?" Cindy asked, obviously confused by his question.

"I may need to talk to him to see if he remembers anything more about the incident," Brass supplied, stifling a sigh of frustration. "What's his name?"

"Tony Cooper… he works at the front desk at the Tangiers," she supplied. "We broke up two months ago, so… I haven't talked to him…"

"That's not a problem," Jim insisted. "Did he say how he knew this guy was leaving?"

"Oh… he saw him driving off I think."

Perking up, Jim demanded, "Did he say what he was driving? Car… van?"

"I… I don't remember if he said," she admitted, "…just that he saw him leaving."

Nodding, Brass made a note to have someone pay a visit to Tony Cooper and see if his memory was any better. "Did you see him again after that?"

"No… not that I noticed."

Seeing the other two shake their heads in unison, Jim blinked his eyes and tried to refocus. "What exactly did he do to Libby… what upset her?"

Shrugging her shoulders, Jeri offered, "Nothing really… he didn't grab her or touch her or anything like that."

Reaching up to rub his neck, Jim took a fortifying breathe. "OK. Then why was she arguing with him?"

"Libby said he got in her way… claimed he saw who hit her car… was trying to get into her space with a story about having the tag number," Cindy supplied. 'It made her mad he was hitting on her… I mean what with her car and all."

"But… he didn't attempt to grab her or…"

Waving her hands in front of her, Jeri inserted, "Not really… but he was trying to get her to come over to him. I think he wanted to get her over to her car so he could get up behind her, you know… into her space. When we came out… he was mad and looked like he was about to do something, but… she was ranting about the car and his being sleazy… saying he was using it as an excuse to hit on her."

"Yeah, I get it," Jim acknowledged, finally understanding what had made the dead woman react. "Did you get a look at him… enough to give us a description?"

The three young women traded looks. "Sort of but… the drawing in the paper is pretty much what we remember. We all agreed it looked like him. Those glasses were ridiculous."

"Yeah," the blond /so she must be Keri… or Kelly… I think/ added. "We looked at the pictures Libby took of her car that night, but we didn't see him in any of them."

Looking up from his notes, Jim asked, "Pictures? She took pictures… that night?"

"Yeah… mostly of the damage to the rear bumper and taillight… but she took some of the other cars in the lot looking for the one that hit hers," Jeri replied. "Her parents gave me her camera… I kept the card in case they wanted the pictures. Right after she died… they were too upset to worry about the car and crap like that. I stuck it in my jewelry box just in case. I meant to make a copy, but… I still have it."

"I need to get that card," Jim requested. "There may be something in one of those pictures that might help our investigation."

"So… it was…"

"I don't know at this point, but I damned well plan to find out," he promised. "Do you have the card with you or is it at your apartment?"

-----

"Are we still on for dinner? I managed to convince the owner of that Thai place to reserve us a table," Jim announced.

"That sounds wonderful, honey," she agreed, shifting her phone into the cradle of her shoulder. "We both need a break. It will be nice to have you all to myself for the evening."

"I was thinking the same thing," he murmured, his voice a sexy growl. "If I hadn't had to beg for a reservation, I'd be tempted to suggest we blow off dinner and see what we can cook up at home."

"Keep using that voice and we may never get around to eating Thai," she laughed. "You know I can't resist that voice!"

"Hummm… tell me more…"

"I think we're having phone sex again," she noted, glancing at her open office door in hopes none of her staff was in earshot. /I hate it when they smirk!/

"Well, our reservation is for 7… I don't have to report until 11…"

Deliberately making her voice as breathy as possible, she whispered, "Are you suggesting there might actually be time for honest to God REAL sex with both of us in the same bed at the same time?!"

"That was… hey, wait a minute," he sputtered, shifting uncomfortably in his chair as the import of her teasing hit home. "Does that mean there's been sex in your bed when I wasn't around?"

"What's a girl to do when you leave her all alone with only her memories…"

A loud groan was his only response.

-----

"Martinez and company have validated our physical description of Keyser using their new software… 6'1", 195 with a muscular build that quote 'exceeds the musculature typical to a Caucasian male of that height and weight'," Brass reported. "The only major addition they were able to offer so far is he's a leftie."

"How did they determine that," Gil asked, leaning back to sip his coffee.

"Let's see… apparently the bruises inflicted by his left hand were deeper and more profound than those made by his right hand," Jim replied, reading over the details in the report. "From that, they concluded he favors his left hand… it's the dominate side. They said this trait has become more pronounced since St. Louis. Why they don't know."

Sofia interjected, "So… less than 15% of the adult population are lefties, right?"

"No more than that. Some studies place the percentage a lot lower… 7 to 10%," Catherine agreed.

"Left-handedness is so rare that many ancient cultures considered it to be a sign of evil," Gil mused, oblivious to the rolling eyes caused by his geeky fascination with obscure trivia. "In fact, the word 'sinister' has its origins in the Latin 'sinestra' which means 'left'. Other cultures associated the trait with clumsiness… hence 'two-left feet'. It hasn't been until recent years that the stigma of being left-handed began to loose the negative connotations long associated with it."

"Great… you can author a paper giving a modern twist to the evil tag," Brass retorted.

"In point of fact… rather than supporting old superstitions, a number of recent studies have suggested a left-handed person is better able to multi-task, is statistically more likely to be successful financially, and… if a twin, are more likely to have an identical twin," Gil concluded.

"Are you suggesting Keyser has a twin?" Vartann demanded. "I know Jim's still not completely convinced he's acting alone."

Intrigued by the question, Gil took a moment to consider the question before offering, "All the evidence says one man is responsible for these murders… although DNA would be the same for identical twins."

"OK, then…"

Shaking his head, Gil continued. "Neither Claudia Fontenelle nor Karen Lieu mentioned a second man, much less a pair of identical twins, so I still think the possibility of a second man is remote. I was actually thinking the enhanced ability to multi-task would help explain how he's managed to grab so many women and not get caught."

"Karen Lieu said the man she encountered held out the message with his right hand," Greg inserted. "Does that mean he's not Keyser?"

"Actually, it may reinforce the probability," Grissom mused. "If your intent is to lure your victim close enough to grab, you'd want your dominate hand free so you have maximum control."

Years of experience with working with the senior CSI warned Brass they were in danger of getting off topic. He quickly interjected, "Which reminds me… Sofia can you run by the Tangiers and talk to… Tony Cooper? The incident with Libby Stevens' car confirms at least part of his MO. Maybe he'll remember something the roommates didn't."

Seeing her nod, he prompted, "Does anyone else have something new we need to discuss? It's been a long shift, so if we're finished, I'm ready to head home and crash."

"I have something," Joe reported, sliding a folder into the center of the conference table.

"OK, what?" Brass demanded, rubbing a weary hand over his face.

Tapping the file, the younger detective offered, "New Orleans faxed a list of stolen Econolines from around the Gulf region. I think you and Stokes are on to something, boss."

Perking up, Jim reached for the file. "Something popped?"

"Yeah," Vartann replied. "They found a dozen or so that fit the basics of what we know about Keyser's van… but one report sort of jumps out at you… light grey 2001 Econoline stolen from a dealership in Gulfport. Salesman left it idling outside the side entrance while he went inside to get his customers… it was gone when he got back."

"Damn!" Catherine exclaimed, "That takes a pair to boost a car in broad daylight with people around. Did anybody see what went down?"

"A couple of people reported seeing a man wearing dark clothes and a ball cap in the area around the time it was stolen, but nobody got a good look at his face," Vartann responded. "Only detail other than the cap that was consistent in all the descriptions was he wore glasses… big black frames."

"Well… that means we're not going to find the van searching registration records. Damn… when I think of the man-hours we've already spent…" Brass growled. "The one we're looking for isn't on the books. He's flying below the radar with God know whose tag."

"Have you heard anything more on the tag stolen from the car up in Minnesota?" Catherine asked.

"Yeah… a witness remembered seeing a van with that tag number on it leaving the parking lot of a skating rink where one of the Lakeland Killer's victims was abducted," Brass reported. "Neither the van or the tag were ever found."

"Damn!" Sofia exclaimed. "Keyser really is a ghost!"

-----

"There… that guy," the AV tech began, pointing to a man on the tape they were viewing, "… watch what he does?"

Staring at the screen, Gil observed, "Ah… he spotted the surveillance camera over the door of the dry cleaner."

"Yeah," Archie agreed. "He made sure never to look directly at the camera… kept his head down like someone that makes it a habit… bolted as soon as he noticed it."

"How did you catch this?" the senior CSI demanded, watching the 18-second clip a second time. "What tipped you off to study this segment of film?"

"He popped as a match to a man in one of the pictures Captain Brass's girlfriend took at that art show," the younger man explained. "I met her the other night… Susie and I ran into them having dinner at the Lotus. She's a knockout!"

"I've noticed," Gill agreed, his tone conveying his irritation at the change of topic. "When was Keyser at the diner?"

The smile on the younger man's face quickly disappeared as he offered, "He was there less than two hours ago… assuming he's Keyser."

"Good work," Grissom praised. "Print me the best picture you can get off the tape and I'll have Brass get someone over there to canvas the area. Maybe someone noticed him… or maybe we'll get lucky and he passed another camera he didn't see in time. If he's a regular, the people in the burger joint should be able to give us a useable description."

"Now that I know who I'm looking for," Archie began, "…I'm pretty sure I've seen him before."

Fierce blue eyes fixed on the tech. "Where?"

"I'm not sure," he admitted. "I've been looking at a lot of video… hundreds of pictures in the last few days, so… I need to go back through all of it before I can narrow it down."

"Make that a top priority," Grissom ordered. "If it's him, this places him two doors down from where Libby Stevens disappeared. It also means the same man was at the art show the Friday before Opal Shirley disappeared."

"Assuming it was Keyser and not a coincide."

"Yeah, assuming that was him… but it's a huge coincidence if it's not… the cap and glasses… the overall fit to the physical description… proximity to two victims," Grissom argued. "Let's focus on this picture as the base for the photo-recognition program. Now that we have something to work from, maybe we can find out where else he frequents."

"OK," Archie acknowledged, "but, now that he knows we have cameras at the hamburger place, won't he assume we've covered the deli and coffeeshop? I doubt we'll get anything at either site after this."

Frowning, Gil finally nodded. "Keep the feeds running, but concentrate on running this picture against the older footage. The best we may get is a better picture."

-----

"Yeah… he comes in once or twice a week," the owner of the hamburger joint, Stu Durbin, admitted. "No idea what his name is. He never has much to say… always orders the same thing… two cheeseburgers with the works and a double order of fries."

Letting out a frustrated sigh, Joe Vartann prodded, "Anything unusual about him… accent…"

"He sounds like he's from back east," the woman working the counter near her husband inserted. "I asked him once and he told me he was from Pittsburg."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah," Andi Durbin insisted. "I'm from a little town near there… Beaver Falls, so his accent sounded familiar. Most people…"

"Most people…?"

Trading an uneasy look with her husband, she offered, "Most people like to have you find something you have in common with them… start talking about 'the old days' or reminiscing about places you both might know. Not this guy. He clammed up tight and never speaks to me… not once since. He always waits on Stu to take his order even if he has to wait… ignores me if I ask. Nobody likes to wait… least not anybody I know."

"Yeah, that is odd," Vartann agreed. "Would you be willing to sit down with a sketch artist and help us with a description?"

A shudder shook the woman's petite frame as Andi whispered, "It's him isn't it… the Strangler?"

"Why do you ask that?" Joe hedged.

"He gives me the willies," she admitted, moving closer to her husband as he settled a protective arm over her shoulder. "He usually keeps his head down… won't make eye contact… but when he does… I don't like the way he looks at me… other women. He has dead eyes… cold as ice."

"What color are they?"

Hesitating for a few seconds she offered, "I think they're green… but I can't swear to it."

"They're green," her husband insisted, "… sort of look wild behind those thick glasses."

"Yeah, those glasses are freaky," Andi agreed.

"What else?"

Pausing for a moment, Stu added, "He wears his watch on the wrong arm."

"Wrong arm?"

"You know… on his right arm," he clarified. "Most people wear them on their left."

"He uses a money clip… its monogrammed," Andi offered. "Hard to read those fancy letters what with the swirls and stuff, but I think there's an M… maybe a D. No idea of the third letter."

"Why does that stand out for you?"

"He doesn't look like the money clip type," Stu inserted with a shrug. "I've been wondering about it too… thought he might have stolen it… looks pretty pricy to me."

"Great," Joe encouraged. "Anything else about this guy strike you as unusual?"

"He has a jagged scar along the right side of his throat… puckers up the whole side of his neck," he replied. "You can't see it unless he wears a sweatshirt or a tee."

Pausing, Stu mused, "You know… it just occurred to me…"

"What?" Joe pressed.

"Those glasses… once you stop looking at them… he sort of reminds me of someone else," the diner owner admitted, "…I just don't remember who."

-----

"I picked him up half way down the block," Archie reported, looking up to greet Grissom and Brass as they entered the AV lab. "He passed a surveillance camera in the door of a Walgreen's. The Deuce bus makes a stop there and he caught a ride. He rode it north as far as it would go, then took the south bound bus… got off at the TI stop and disappeared into the crowd watching the pirate show. I lost him from there."

"So, you have footage of him on the bus that entire time?" Gil pressed.

"Yeah… not that it tells us much," the AV tech replied. "He knew where the cameras were and kept his head down the entire time."

"Is there anything useful you can tell us that might help with an ID?" Brass demanded.

"He's definitely a leftie," the younger man responded as he queued up one of the videos for them to watch, "and I think he has an injury to his back. Look at this segment… see how he turned his entire body to look behind him rather than turning his head. After watching him for over an hour… I don't think he can… turn his head that is… at least not more than a few inches in any direction."

"Good catch," the detective praised. "Anything else?"

"He keeps a journal… or at least a notebook. He pulled it out once he was on the second bus and spent most of the rest of his ride making notes," Johnson offered. "And, he paid with an easy pass. If he's had it for a while, we may be able to get a fix on his riding habits… where he goes, stops he uses."

"Request the records," Jim instructed. "Let me know if you need a warrant. I'll have CAT alert us if he uses that pass again… assuming he hasn't already dumped it in the nearest trashcan."

-----

Comparing the two sketches, Jim noted, "The sketch the Durbins gave is pretty close to the one you got from the three prostitutes he tried to strangle."

"Yeah," Sofia agreed. "All three confirmed green eyes and the scar on his neck. Two of them said he had others down his back and chest… right side of his body."

"Only problem with these sketches is…" Greg observed, "…they all look exactly like Karen Lieu said. He looks like Drew Carey."

"Or Harry Carey," Gil reluctantly agreed.

"Yeah… those big glasses hide a lot of his face," Vartann groused. "The Durbins kept going back to them. Once he stopped focusing on them, Stu Durbin said he reminded him of someone… just couldn't remember who."

"Everyone that's met this guy seems to focus on those glasses… that or the baseball cap," Jim agreed, a troubled frown tugging at his lips. "Something Casey said has got me thinking…"

"Thinking what?" Sofia prompted, recognizing the tone of his voice. It meant something had occurred to Brass that he found unsettling.

Looking up from his study of the drawings, he asked, "What if they're props… both the glasses and the baseball cap? They hide his face pretty well, but they wouldn't automatically make people suspicious they're a disguise. In fact… they seem to be distracting people from paying much attention to the rest of his appearance."

"They might even make some people drop their guard… they look goofy," Greg added. "Some people assume 'looks goofy' is the same as 'is goofy'… harmless."

"Good point. So… even if these sketches are dead-on, they may still be useless in ID'ing Keyser if he doesn't wear them all the time," Brass summarized. "People that could give us an ID won't recognize him from the sketches."

"Well, if that's true… maybe he's been going into some of the places we've been watching without them," Joe proposed. "That would explain why Durbin thought he looked familiar once he stopped focusing on the glasses."

Nodding, Gil responded, "I'll ask Archie Johnson to go back through the tapes from their place and see if he can spot our chameleon now that we have other features to use for comparison."

"While you're doing that," Catherine began, a wicked grin lighting her face, "Jim can explain why the thought of props made him think of Casey. Wow… I didn't think it was still possible to get you to blush like that, Jim."

-----

"I thought you were moaning to Brass about freezing your ass off. I hate to tell you but it looks like it grew back."

Vega paused in the middle of the hallway of LVPD headquarters and waited on his fellow detectives to join him. "I always suspected your rampant heterosexuality was just a cover, Vartann. Your interest in my ass begs the question… don't ask, don't tell?"

"You wish," the younger man snorted. "If I ever decided to take a walk on the wild side, your ass will still be safe… holy ground as far as I'm concerned."

Rolling his eyes, Sam countered, "My wife will be so relieved."

"She's probably just glad to have you back in Vegas," Sofia noted. "While you were off playing in the snow, she had the kids all on her own."

"Yeah, I heard about that… at length," he muttered, opening the door to the conference room. "Minnesota is too damned cold for my tastes. I'd have been happy to trade places."

Smiling, Sofia nodded in agreement. "I'm with you on that… except for a ski trip or two a year."

"I need to warn you… if you and Denny start multiplying," Sam offered, "…ski trips are a thing of the past on a cop's pay… think Space Mountain, not Jackson Hole."

"Then it's a good thing since neither Denny or I want kids," she countered, taking her seat at the table. "We both like to ski more than change diapers."

A snort of amusement preceded, "Who doesn't? The other way around is just wrong."

Nodding to the senior detective seated on the other side of the table, Sam greeted, "Do me a favor and send Det. Ski Bunny here the next time the destination involves snow."

"I'll see what I can arrange," Brass smirked. "Welcome back. Your timing is impeccable."

Taking a seat, Sam pressed, "How so? You have something new?"

Sliding a picture into the middle of the table, Brass announced, "Meet Patrick Daniel McMullen, a.k.a. Rocky. According to the FBI, his last known address was in Slidell, La. Here's what we know..."

-----

Feedback welcome!

5-23-2009


	17. Chapter 17 That Was the Week That Was

Title: By Design, Chapter 17

Author: Sorsha_711  
Fandom/Pairing: CSI; Brass/OCF  
Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations  
Disclaimer: A quick check of my bank account should prove I'm not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh! Anything you recognize belongs to the good people that bring us CSI.  
Summary: A serial killer is stalking the streets of Vegas… hell of a time for Brass to meet the woman of his dreams.

By Design, Chapter 17 --- That Was the Week That Was

-----

_Sliding a picture into the middle of the table, Brass announced, "Meet Patrick Daniel McMullen, a.k.a. Rocky. His last known address was in Slidell, La. Here's what we know..."_

"McMullen won a number of bouts in the 60's and early 70's, but never the big one," Brass concluded. "According to Coleman, he relocated to St. Louis from Boston after his wife died in the late 80's to be near his daughter's family. He opened a gym and trained a number of young boxers… but anyone with real talent got snapped up by other trainers with more clout and connections. For the most part, he handled a bunch of punch drunk has-beens or never-were's."

"So, he's too old to be Keyser?" Sofia questioned.

"Yeah, by at least twenty years," Brass replied, "… not to mention his bio says he's 5'8", 170… red-hair. Not even close to what we have on Keyser… be like confusing me and Joe."

Trading a look with the other detectives, Vega asked, "So… you're thinking Keyser was one of his hopefuls?"

"Maybe… or one of his never-were's," Jim agreed. "The man on the video from the hamburger dive… and on the Deuce has an obvious problem with his back. I'm thinking he was one of McMullen's wannabes that got injured somehow… probably bad enough it ended his career."

"How did McMullen end up in Louisiana?" Sofia asked, pulling the picture closer for a better look.

"Nothing too suspicious there… he remarried," Brass supplied. "New wife was from Slidell, so they moved there in 2001… had a baby and settled into a life of domestic bliss."

Rolling his eyes at his supervisor's choice of words, Sam pressed, "Has the FBI talked to McMullen yet?"

"No," Brass offered, with a frown. "They're looking for him, but no one has seen him since early 2005… he disappeared approximately six months before Katrina. His daughter… Carla McMullen Fields, filed a missing persons report in on February 8 of that year. As far as they can determine, he hadn't been seen around for about five days at that point. No signs of a struggle at the house… his car and suitcase… personal effects were gone, but no one has seen or heard from him since."

"What about his wife?" Sam demanded.

"Suzanne McMullen and their two-year old son, Daniel, were killed in a car wreck in August 2004," he replied, a frown accompanying, "… suspicious circs. Louisiana State Police investigated… concluded she was run off the road following a high-speed chase. There were several large dents on the rear bumper and rear quarter panel of her car. They found tire impressions and green paint transfer from an older model Jeep, but not much else. The case is still open… being treated as a homicide."

"Both the wife and baby died on impact?" Joe pressed, a sick feeling twisting his gut.

Shaking his head, Jim supplied, "Suzanne was knocked unconscious in the crash. The car slowly sank into a swamp… both victims drowned. Accident recreation showed… it took the car almost forty minutes to sink. Daniel was probably awake, strapped in his car seat the whole time."

"Dear God!"

"Yeah."

After several fraught minutes, Sofia broke the silence. "I'm assuming they looked at McMullen? If he killed his family, it would explain why he took off."

"They tore his life apart looking for something to tie him to the murders and came up with nadda," Brass reported. "McMullen had a solid alibi… he was at a boxing match in Gulfport with plenty of witnesses to back him up. Suzanne didn't have a big life insurance policy… small payout that probably covered the funeral expenses and not much more. She didn't own any property in her name… nothing to indicate she was having an affair."

"They subpoenaed his financials, but couldn't find anything out of the ordinary… nothing to suggest he hired someone to kill them. By all accounts, the marriage was pretty good. McMullen is generally well-liked by the people that know him, including her family," he added. "LSP couldn't find anyone else with a viable motive… finally concluded the wreck was the result of road rage."

"Convenient."

"Maybe… but, in the absence of anything else to give them another suspect…" Shrugging his shoulders, Jim concluded, "The case is still open… as a homicide. McMullen's disappearance a few months later made them take another hard look at him but nothing new popped. Bottom line is… the baby was the light of his life, so it's hard to imagine he was behind what happened."

"They're sure the kid was his?" Sam questioned.

Tamping down painful memories of his own experience learning his baby was another man's, Jim admitted, "One of the first things they checked apparently… her saddling him with another man's child could have been motive, but DNA proves Daniel was his. LSP thinks it's possible he took off to escape the memories… maybe put some distance between him and his daughter. Apparently she was worried about his state of mind. The reports say he had complained about her smothering him, so… the police initially wrote it off as a grieving man needing some space. After three years with no word… they're suspicious, but not much they can do."

Nodding, Sofia asked, "Any recent activity on McMullen's bank accounts?"

"Yeah, actually… the usual monthly stuff," Jim confirmed. "He's been conducting his business online… payments on his house, utilities, other bills… taxes are all current. He gets a social security disability check each month along with the proceeds from a few investments… all direct deposits."

"Everything is done online?" Sofia pressed. "Can't they trace them?"

"Under the circumstances, the courts would only give them limited access to his records. About all they were given was confirmation the transactions were being made and that they originated here in the Vegas area… libraries, internet cafes, yadda yadda," Brass supplied. "Since whoever is doing it has all the proper access information, no laws have been broken… at least none that can be proved. McMullen's free to come and go as he pleases and not answer to anyone. Since LSP cleared him of any involvement in his family's deaths, they can't claim he's evading prosecution. Legally, their hands are tied."

"Yeah, but…"

Holding up his hand to halt her rant, Jim nodded. "I agree it's suspicious. I asked Griggs to see if he can link one of those transactions to activity on one of Keyser's auction accounts. If we can establish a link… same time and place where the transaction originated, it would give us a reasonable shot at a warrant to get all of his financials."

"In the mean time, here's a picture of McMullen," Brass instructed. "Let's concentrate on hitting all the gyms in the Valley… revisit the ones you've been to and show them his picture… see if his name rings any bells."

-----

"How did your meeting go?"

A dry, hacking cough prevented her from answering him immediately. Taking a deep breath to clear her throat, Casey croaked, "About what I expected. McGregor put the project on hold until the market improves."

Concerned by how hoarse she sounded, Jim hesitated before commenting, "I'm sorry, babe. With the way the economy's tanked, I know you've been worried that would happen."

"Yeah, I can't pretend to be surprised. McGregor says their pre-sales are flat… but overall sales figures for March were up unexpectedly for the Vegas market, so he's not walking away yet," she responded, before another cough hit.

"Casey, honey… that cough sounds bad," Jim observed. "Don't you think you need to see a doctor… maybe get something to knock this out before it gets any worse?"

A shaky sigh accompanied her agreement. "It's probably my annual bout of sinus infection and bronchitis. I'll try to get into see her tomorrow… hopefully, they can work me into the schedule. Since its Friday, I'll probably have to go and sit in the waiting room half the day."

"Probably, but, if you start taking something tomorrow, you should have the worst of this knocked out by Monday," he responded, relieved she wasn't going to be hard-headed. /Maybe that's just me./ "Are you at work?"

"No… I'm at a coffee shop. I got caught in a downpour leaving the meeting… traffic was snarled… it's a mess," Casey wheezed. "I'm waiting it out over a cup of tea."

"Are you going to feel up to dinner tonight?"

"Actually, that's the part of the reason I called," she admitted. "I need to ask for a rain-check… pun intended. An early night is all I really feel up to tonight."

"Sure, I understand," he soothed. "Do you want me to bring you anything?"

"A kiss good-night?"

"I think I can handle that," Jim smiled. "How about some chicken soup? Deli down the street makes some almost as good as my aunt's."

-----

"Your message said you had something for me?"

Looking up from the report he was reading, Grissom motioned for Brass to take the chair across from him. "Bobby Dawson has been working with the Feds on tracing the Berretta used to kill Carl Johansson."

"And?" the older man pressed, dropping into the hard chair with a tired grunt.

"I thought you'd want to know… the Berretta was used to kill an undercover cop in St. Paul," Gil reported. "The officer was working a carjacking ring. The St. Paul PD assumed he was killed over something he'd uncovered about their operation, but they could never tie the killing to any of their suspects. The gun was never recovered and the case remains open."

"Damn!" Jim exclaimed, the news a dead cop was tied to the Strangler investigation coming as a wholly un-welcomed development. "What do we know about the carjacking ring?"

"After Officer Franklin's murder, St. Paul made it their mission to close it down," the CSI replied. "The purported leader of the operation is serving a life hitch at Great Lakes Correctional Facility on an unrelated murder. The FBI is pouring over the files on their investigation and they plan to sit down with… Fraiser Dorgstrum to see what he can tell us about whoever owned that gun."

"Whoever used it probably tossed it in the Mississippi," Brass growled. "Only an idiot keeps a piece with a dead cop on it."

"Well, if he did, it floated south rather than sinking."

Startled, Brass demanded, "What the hell does that mean?"

"Bobby found a third body tied to the Berretta… an unknown man found in the trunk of a car washed out of Lake Pontchartrain by Katrina," he supplied. "The car had been in the lake for a while… head and face smashed, hands missing, so they weren't able to ID the victim. The car… a 2003 Mercedes Coupe was reported stolen seven months before the hurricane… RO, Jacqueline Colbert, lives in New Orleans. Ms. Colbert is a professor emeritus of history at Tulane… 77 at her last birthday. NOPD checked her out, but that went nowhere."

"Stolen car, carjacking ring… sensing a reoccurring theme here?" Brass growled.

"Yeah, that does seem to be the case," Gil agreed. "Has the Auto Thief unit found anything that gives us a local connection?"

"Vartann has been pushing a buddy of his for leads… nothing so far," Jim replied. "You said the car was washed out of the lake by the hurricane. Where exactly?"

Flipping through his notes, Grissom answered, "North side of the lake near Mandeville, Louisiana… storm surge dropped it in a tree in the middle of someone's backyard. Why?"

"Is that close to Slidell?"

"Ah… the allusive Patrick Daniel McMullen," the scientist murmured, as he Googled a map of the state. After a moment, he offered, "Not that far… both are north of Ponchartrain."

"Interesting… and I doubt it's a coincidence given the link to the Beretta," the senior detective offered. "LSP told me McMullen went missing about six months before Katrina. Timing fits."

"Luxury car is jacked… man associated to a killer with prior connections to car thief turns up missing a few weeks later… yeah, that tracks." Fixing Brass with a steady gaze, Grissom asked the question on both their minds. "So… is McMullen the shooter or the unidentified body?"

"That's the $64,000 question, but I'd lay odds we've found our missing boxer," Brass replied. "Do you mind giving whoever you've been talking to about the mystery man in the trunk a call and ask them to request a DNA sample from McMullen's daughter to compare to any DNA recovered from the body?"

"LSP should have a copy of his DNA report from when they tested paternity on Daniel McMullen," Gil speculated. "Since he was excluded as a suspect, his DNA wasn't entered into CODIS, but the findings should still be in the file."

"Even better."

-----

"Have you called your doctor yet?"

Her voice was gravelly as Casey answered, "Yes, daddy. I have an appointment at 3."

Chuckling, Jim teased, "I don't want to be your daddy, but can I come over tonight and play doctor?"

Her laugh gave way to a racking cough. Catching her breath, she grumbled, "I doubt I'll be a playful mood, but I'd love the company. Are you still planning to take the weekend off? You're more than welcome to spend it here with me… hint, hint."

"Best offer I've had in a while. Unless something major breaks, I'm overdue and the Sheriff is 'insisting'," he confirmed. "Are you at home or work?"

"Work," she admitted. "I need to finish a couple of things before my appointment. I plan to make a run by the hospital to check on Chloe before I play seat warmer at the doctor's office. Are you still working? It's after noon."

"I have some unfinished business to handle," he hedged, not wanting to discuss the messy details of unidentified bodies in trunks and murdered cops. "I have some dry cleaning in the car… I'll shower and change clothes so I don't offend anyone."

"But, when was the last time you slept?"

Sighing, he admitted, "I'm into my second day… been a long week."

"Sounds like we both need a quiet weekend beginning with an early night," she observed.

A tired smile warmed his voice. "Who's trying to play doctor now?"

"Me… though I have to admit the doctor fantasy never worked for me after all the time I spent in hospitals and waiting rooms as a kid," she admitted, trying to distract him with a little flirting. "Good cop/naughty cop is my thing. Aren't I lucky I found one who's both?"

"Well, I do try," he replied, chuckling softly. "Call me when you finish up at the doctor's office. I can pickup your medicine and whatever else you need from the store on my way over this evening. Tell Chloe hey for me."

-----

"No one we've interviewed remembers seeing McMullen," O'Riley began, "but the name rang a few bells. Guy named Sean McMullen started showing up at gyms in and around Vegas a couple of years ago… claimed to be the son of Patrick 'Rocky' McMullen of limited pugilistic fame."

"McMullen has a surviving daughter. His only son was killed in the same wreck as his second wife," Brass inserted, "…unless he had one he's never acknowledged... maybe one he didn't know about or kept under wraps. I'll get LSP to compare McMullen's DNA to the semen we recovered from Tina Ortiz… see if we can determine if Keyser is actually related to him or just trying to get a little cred in the boxing world. What else?"

"Not a lot," the older man admitted. "Nobody paid him much attention. McMullen is hardly a household name even in boxing circles… lost his one championship bout by TKO in the second round. Not a lot of juice left in the name."

"OK," Brass sighed, "it was worth…"

"None of the guys we talked to remember him wearing glasses, just the cap," Ray interjected. "And before you ask, none of them remembered him well enough to give us a description. One did remember he was wearing a Steeler's sweatshirt… remembered talking to him about the old Steel Curtain glory days."

"Takes us back to Pittsburg. Andi Durbin says he had a Pittsburg accent… told her he was from there," Brass acknowledged. "I'll talk to Scott Vessik with at PPD and see if McMullen spent any time in the area. Maybe he had a mistress with a kid that he was supporting off the radar. If we can get a DNA match… maybe a birth certificate, we may finally be on to something."

-----

Jim dropped the bag of groceries onto front passenger seat of his car as he thumbed open his cell phone. "Brass."

"Well, that answers one big question," Brass sighed, after listening to the report from Sofia Curtis. "Damn! I was expecting his, but I was hoping to talk to McMullen… see what he could tell us about Keyser."

"Really? DNA proves he's McMullen's son?"

"OK. Ask LSP to send us a copy of their files on the investigation. Maybe there's something in the details that might help us find this bastard. Fax a copy of the DNA report to Vessik at the Pittsburg PD… maybe it will help them to find his birth records."

"Yeah… I'm on my way over to Casey's," he replied. "If you need me, that's where I'll be this weekend. She's sick, so we'll probably stay close to home… maybe sleep until Sunday."

"Yeah, you too, Sofie," Jim responded, a fond smile softening his voice. "Vega has the watch this weekend, but, if something pops, call me."

-----

The light from the hallway cast a golden glow on her flushed features as Jim eased open the door to the bedroom. Pausing for a moment to study her, Jim left the bag with her medicine on the dresser before disappearing into the on-suite bathroom. Ten minutes later, he reappeared dressed in a pair of cotton sleep pants and a LVPD hockey team tee.

Grabbing the bag, he placed a full glass of water on the bedside table before taking a seat at her back. Sitting that close, he had no trouble feeling the temperature that had accompanied the bronchitis and sinus infection. Laying a gentle hand on her shoulder, Jim whispered, "Case… honey, you need to wake up and take your meds."

A soft, muffled groan preceded the slow appearance of a blurry blue eye amid the tumble of golden brown hair obscuring part of her face. "Jim?"

"Yeah, babe, it's me," he confirmed, leaning down to drop a quick kiss on her forehead. "I picked up your prescriptions. You need to take a dose of the antibiotic and the Prednisone. There's an inhaler, too."

Sighing, she shifted into a sitting position before accepting the pills and glass of water. Waiting until she had lowered the glass, he pressed, "When was the last time you took some aspirin?"

That brought a soft smile to her lips. "Good evening to you too, Dr. Brass. You look like you're about to collapse. Come lay down before you fall over."

"Aspirin?"

Shaking her head at his stubbornness, she allowed him to dump a couple of white pills into her palm. The inhaler appeared next. "Damn… you're even more hard-headed than me… and that's saying something."

Waiting until the coughing fit that followed her admonishment ended, he leaned in and captured her lips in a soothing kiss. "You haven't seen stubborn yet, beautiful."

"Well, I can't say you didn't warn me," she murmured, reaching up to caress the side of his face before sliding to the middle of the bed. "Now, get into bed before I have to get tough."

Chuckling, he did as he was instructed.

-----

Rolling his neck to ease the muscles that always seemed to be stiff when he first got out of bed, Jim reached over for the coffee carafe and poured himself another cup. "Babe… you want a refill?"

Glancing up from the Lifestyles section of the Sunday paper, she smiled. "I could seriously get used to this."

Smiling back, he teased, "What… having someone to top off your coffee before it gets cold?"

"That too."

Pausing for a moment to study her face, Jim noted, "It's good to see you feeling better. You actually have a little color in your cheeks."

"I had a good doctor looking after me this weekend," she responded, the soft smile on her face conveying how much his company had meant. "It was wonderful having you here the last couple of days. I slept better knowing you were safe and getting some rest for a change."

"It meant a lot to me too, Case. I don't want to give this up," he added, jumping into the opening she had given him to discuss taking their relationship to the next level. "Maybe its time to think about making our living arrangements permanent."

"You're ready for that… us moving in together?"

"I've been thinking about it a lot lately… only bright spot in my life at the moment is thinking about you," he admitted. "Yeah, I am… if you are. The housing market's pretty soft… you know that better than I do. My place is still worth more than I paid for it, but… not nearly as much as I was hoping."

"I bought near the height of the market," Casey sighed, following his lead. "At the time, I got a good deal on this place, but… I only planned to live here until _Celebration_ came on line… then move into a condo there. I assumed I'd be able to sell the house without much hassle, but… now I'm not sure I could give it away with all the vacant homes in my neighborhood. A couple have sold in the past few weeks, but there are still a lot sitting vacant… it's pretty depressing."

Sipping his coffee, Jim offered, "Mine would probably sell a little easier… three bedrooms, three baths… my neighborhood wasn't hit as hard as some. We could sell mine and stay here until the market recovers, then move over to _Celebration_."

"Is that what you really want, honey?" she nudged. "Condo living seemed like a good idea when it was just me to consider, but… is it what **you** want? I'm not even sure if it's still what I want. I was assuming I'd be on my own. Now that there is an 'us' to consider… maybe we need to explore other options. Like you said, your place is bigger so maybe it's the better option."

"OK… I'm not sure either… about living in a condo after living in a house for most of my life," he admitted. "I'm very sure about the 'us'."

"Glad to hear it," she whispered, extending her hand to clasp the one he slide in her direction. "Have you ever lived in a hi-rise… or a multi-family complex?"

Turning his hand to grasp hers, Jim grinned, "I lived in a complex when I first hit town. Let's just say it fit my lifestyle at the time."

Rolling her eyes, she teased, "Yeah, we covered this on our first date. You have a history of one date/one night/no call. I'm glad I met you after you got that 'lifestyle' out of your system."

Chuckling, he argued, "I wasn't that bad! Actually, I worked most of the time."

"Is that what they call it now?" she retorted, giving his hand a squeeze. "Back in my day…"

"Your day? I'm cradle-robbing and we both know it," he interjected. "We need to plan on a place where I can sit by a pool and ogle you in a bikini."

"I don't do bikinis," Casey mock sniffed, "and I'm not sure I want you near a pool filled with sweet young things that do."

"I only have eyes for you, beautiful."

Leaning over to kiss him, she murmured, "I really shouldn't get such a charge out of corny lines like that… must be the voice."

That made him laugh. "What is it about my voice anyway? You're the first woman I've ever met that seems to find it all that irresistible… not that I'm complaining. Last thing on my mind."

"Yeah… what's the first?"

Gentle fingers caressed the side of her face as he noted, "It's good to see you feeling better. You haven't been… frisky all week. I've missed it."

"It was a rough week," she agreed. "You were ready to drop when you got here Friday night… I was worried."

"Seems we're good for each other," Jim agreed, the mental image of him doing his 'famous' victory dance causing him to smirk. "So… we're taking the plunge and moving in together?"

"Seems like it… details to be resolved."

Smiling, Jim mused, "I think I can see us living in the middle of all you've got going on at _Celebration_. When I was a kid, I used to dream of moving across the river to New York… live in the middle of all that action. Scale's a lot smaller, but… it could be a very good fit."

"OK, but I'm open to exploring other options too," she responded, settling back so she could reclaim her cup of coffee. "We need to take some time and decide where we both want to be. Frankly, I hate moving and… it would be nice if this move fit into our long-term plans. How much longer do you plan to work? I've always wanted to give up my practice and teach for the last ten or so years of my career. What about you?"

Blue eyes twinkling, he pressed, "Long-term plans, huh? Grow old and grey together?"

"I thought I'd been pretty clear about staking my claim," she asserted with a grin. "I suppose I'll need to make an honest man out of you before long."

His right eyebrow shot up and a huge grin lit his face. "Maybe I'm reading too much into that comment, but… did you just ask me to marry you?"

The cup of coffee froze midway between her lips and the table. "I…"

Chuckling, he teased, "I'm kind of an old-fashioned guy, so I was expecting to be wined and dined… maybe taken out for dancing before you popped the…"

"Marry me."

Startled by the intensity… the certainty of her proposal, Jim felt his heart begin to slam against his ribcage. After a few seconds, he managed, "You're sure?"

"Do I have to beg… maybe run an ad on one of those giant message signs along the Strip?" she whispered, "… show up at the station and propose on one knee before your entire command?"

"Only if I can video tape it," he countered, his voice husky with emotion.

Rising from his chair, Jim knelt at her side and gently framed her face in his hands. "On second thought, I don't want to share this moment with anyone but you."

A trembling hand reached up to caress his face. "Is that a yes?"

His lips quirked softly as the fact she had indeed been the one to propose to him settled around him like a warm blanket. /Damn, who would have thought!!!/

Against her lips, he whispered, "Yes."

-----

5-29-2009


	18. Chapter 18 Never Assume

Title: By Design, Chapter 18

Author: Sorsha_711  
Fandom/Pairing: CSI; Brass/OCF  
Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations  
Disclaimer: A quick check of my bank account should prove I'm not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh! Anything you recognize belongs to the good people that bring us CSI.  
Summary: A serial killer is stalking the streets of Vegas… hell of a time for Brass to meet the woman of his dreams.

A/N --- Sorry for the long delay in updates. RL has been a challenge lately. I have a large chunk of the rest of the story drafted, so I hope to update again soon. In the mean time, feedback is always welcome!

By Design, Chapter 18 --- Never Assume

-----

Reaching for the coffee carafe to refill his cup, Jim looked in Casey's direction. To his surprise, he found her staring at the morning paper with an uneasy look darkening her features. "Babe? What's wrong?"

Casey had piled the unread papers from the weekend in the middle of the table along with the one from that morning and they had been skimming through them as they drank their coffee. Looking up to meet his gaze, she pointed to the newspaper article on the front page of the Sunday edition. "This woman..."

Frowning, Jim leaned over to see the picture more clearly. It was of their most recent victim in the Strangler investigation, Valerie Davis. "OK. What about her?"

Her voice had a faint shiver as Casey admitted, "I'm not sure why, but she looks familiar. I can't place… I talked to her recently… maybe about one of my projects. I remember her face… she has… had a little girl. She showed me her picture."

A wave of unease washed over him as her words registered. "Casey… she wasn't from Vegas. She was a pharmaceutical rep in town making sales calls. I talked to her husband… and he didn't mention any planned moves to the area. She would have had no reason to contact you about a project."

"It doesn't matter… I talked to her, honey," she insisted. "I just don't remember where."

"OK, let's think this through." Hesitating for several seconds, Jim pressed, "It would help if we can pinpoint where you think you saw her. We're still trying to fill in the gaps in Valerie's movements for the days she was here, so anything that gives us a piece of the puzzle might give us the lead we need to find this bastard."

"I'd like to help… but I'm…"

"Would it help if we ran through your schedule for the days she was in the area? Maybe that would help you narrow down the possibilities," Jim proposed.

"OK… that makes sense."

Reaching over to grab his notepad from the pocket of his jacket hanging on the back of one of dining room chairs, Jim flipped to the notes he had taken when his interviewed the victim's husband. "OK… she was here a couple of months ago… but let's start with her most recent sales trip. A casual encounter like the one you're describing isn't something you're likely to remember from two months ago. Hold on… ok, here. She arrived in Vegas last Monday… late morning."

Nodding, Casey reached for her omnipresent Blackberry. Looking through her appointment calendar, she offered, "I didn't get out of the office at all that day… one of the interim deadlines for a building at _Celebration_ was hitting us hard, so it was after midnight when we wrapped up. I ate lunch and dinner in the break room… didn't make any coffee runs or have any appointments, so I didn't see anyone but my staff that day… including you."

"Yeah, I remember not getting my goodnight kiss. OK, Monday's out," he ticked off. "How about Tuesday?"

"Pretty much the same as Monday… my calendar was blocked off except for a meeting with Jason Boyles. He's the contractor on a doctor's office I designed. He had a few change orders we had to resolve," she murmured. "I had lunch at my desk… left around 6:30. You were tied up at work, so I grabbed takeout and went straight home… went to bed early since I wasn't feeling good."

"Yeah, ok. Where did you get the takeout?"

"Bad day trumps bad diet," Casey supplied.

A slight smile eased the strain on his face at their private joke. "OK, _In-N-Out_. Did you go in or through the drive-thru?"

"Drive-thru."

"Rules that out," Jim sighed. "How about Wednesday?"

"Well…" she murmured, "I had a couple of meetings that day. I met that morning with a couple about a custom house I'm designing for some property they own in Utah … 10:30, Doug and Katie Isakson. They left just before noon. I ran to the drug store… grabbed takeout at the deli down the street from my office… _Purple Daze_, then back to the office."

"Could you have talked to her at either place?"

Racking her brain for the details he needed, Casey finally shook her head. "That's not ringing any bells."

"Did you talk to anyone?" Jim prompted.

"I ran into Candice… you know, my friend that runs the gallery," she recalled. "She was coming out of the drug store. We talked for a few minutes… made plans for lunch next week."

"Yeah, I know who you mean… we've run into her several times," Jim agreed. "Her last name is… Bollinger?"

"Ballenger."

"OK. Anyone else?"

"I spoke to the pharmacist about an over-the-counter sinus medicine… the clerk at the check-out," she offered.

"Valerie worked for a pharmaceutical company," Jim inserted. "Any chance there was a sales rep talking to the pharmacist?"

"Not that I noticed," she hedged. "It was the lunch hour, so there were a lot of people in the store. I don't remember talking to anyone… other than the usual chatter in the checkout line with other people in a hurry. I can't place her there… sorry."

"Nothing to apologize for," he soothed. "Which store did you go to? I'll go by and see if she might have been there."

"The same one where you picked up my prescriptions… the _Medicine Cabinet_ down the street from my office," she supplied. "The pharmacist I talked to is named Ron or Rob, I think."

"Great," he replied, jotting down the information. "How about at the deli? Did you talk to anyone there?"

"Tanya Fowler… she's one of the owners. She mans the counter at lunch," Casey offered, "…and I stopped to talk to Phil Parnell about a problem with the AC at the offices on my way out. Phil owns the building… works out of his real estate office on the ground floor… Parnell Properties. He was there having lunch with a couple of his salespeople… Jack Costanzia and Molly… I think her last name is Harris. She got married a few months ago… I think that was the name."

Adding them to his notes, he prompted, "Anyone else?"

"No, I don't think so," she sighed. "I had to get back to the office for a meeting with Bill Dorton and his GC… they were there from 1:30 to a little after 3; otherwise, I was working on the _Dreamweaver _account until we wrapped up about 10… I went straight home from there."

"GC?" Jim prompted.

"Oh, sorry… general contractor," Casey explained. "Benny Rinaldi."

After adding their names to his list of possible follow-up interviews, Jim nudged, "OK… what about Thursday?"

Looking up, she fixed her lover with a questioning frown. "Thursday… the paper said that was the day she disappeared."

"Yeah… she spoke to her mother late that afternoon while gassing up her SUV at a convenience store near Spring Valley," he confirmed. "Why? Do you remember something?"

Seeing her eyes widen, Jim pressed, "Does that mean anything, Case? Did you see her at the _Gas n' Sip_ off Rainbow?"

Looking down at her Blackberry, Casey murmured, "Spring Valley?"

"OK… what are you remembering, Casey? Talk to me," Jim repeated. "Was it the convenience store?"

"No… but my meeting with McGregor was at their corporate offices in Spring Valley," she replied, clearly distracted as she sorted through her memories of that day. "I didn't stop for gas, so the convenience store is out."

"OK… did you stop anywhere else?" Jim asked. "You called me to tell me how your meeting…"

"That's it! I talked to her at a coffee shop! It was raining when I left McGregor's, so I stopped for tea… the road was flooding. I called you while I waited," she exclaimed, relief evident in her voice as the memory came into focus. "She was ahead of me in the line… we chatted while we waited."

"A coffee shop? Do you remember which one?" he asked, leaning forward to grab her hand as a burst of adrenalin charged his system. This was new information and the timing meant it was close to when Valerie disappeared. It was the best lead for finding out when their most recent victim was grabbed that had yet turned up.

Frowning, she murmured, "I don't remember the name… it was a little 'mom and pop' off of Rainbow near the Spanish Trail Country Club."

"Did you pay with cash or use plastic?"

"Umm… I probably used my debit card. Let me look for my receipt," Casey offered, relieved to have a way of tying down her encounter with the latest victim. "That will have the name of the shop and the time of the transaction."

"Great… but let's run through a few more details first," Jim requested, adding her comments to his notes. "Do you remember what you talked about? Did she give you any clues of where she was going next?"

Catching her bottom lip between her teeth, Casey racked her brain for the specifics of the encounter. "Well… she was in line ahead of me. She had her keys in her hand and I noticed her little girl's picture on a… you know, a frame-thingie."

"OK… so you started talking?"

Nodding, she recalled, "I commented on how cute her daughter is… that made her smile... proud mom. We chatted for a few minutes as we waited… nothing serious… the weather mostly I think. That's why we'd both stopped; the roads were flooding from the downpour."

"This is great!" he encouraged. "What else do you remember?"

"I think she said she liked my shoes… but that's not important I guess," she murmured, as she talked her way though the memory. "She kept looking at her watch… I think she was running late. She never told me her name. That's all I remember… I don't think there was anymore to it than that."

"Honey… did you see her leave?" Jim asked, laying a hand on her shoulder to steady her. "Did she talk to anyone else that you saw?"

Struggling to remember, Casey admitted, "Well, she would have spoken to the girl behind the counter. I didn't see her talking to anyone else… but I really wasn't watching. I think she left as soon as she had her order. She smiled in my direction and… that's the last time I remember seeing her."

Nodding, he asked, "Do you remember the clerk's name... or maybe a description? It would help make sure I talk to the right person."

"Teenage girl… short black hair with a pink streak on both sides of her face… wearing a Hello Kitty t-shirt… hair clips too I think," Casey recalled. "I didn't notice her name tag… but the pink hair with the cat faces is hard to forget."

"OK," Jim acknowledged, adding the description to the notes for a follow-up visit to the coffee shop. "What did you do?"

"I got a table near the front window… returned calls and emails until the rain stopped." Casey supplied.

Jim focused his gaze on his pad as he ran the new information over and over in his mind. The obvious fact that Casey may have crossed paths with their killer a second time swamped all other thoughts and made it difficult to concentrate on the larger investigation. Looking up, he asked, "Are you still planning to visit Chloe this morning before going to the office?"

Nodding, Casey studied the fierce emotions darkening his deep blue eyes. "The doctors think she's made enough progress to let her move to the suite Richard's been using at the Venetian. I promised to help them get her settled."

"OK… but, honey, I want to assign a couple of officers to stay with you while I follow-up on the information you've given me," he proposed, squeezing her hand. "Maybe you could stay at the suite and keep her company until I can run down these leads… see where they take us."

"Jim…"

"I'm serious, baby," he urged, his voice imbued with a steely determination. "This makes two of the Strangler's victims you've encountered within days… hell, hours in Valerie's case, of him grabbing them. We can't assume he hasn't seen you. I won't run the risk of him grabbing you too… OK?"

He had no difficulty in seeing the building panic in her eyes. He felt the tremors shaking her body as the possibility she might have drawn the attention of a brutal killer became suddenly very real. "Three."

"Three what?"

"I sort of knew… well, not really knew, but… met three of them," she clarified. "I… I guess I just assumed…"

Wrapping both hands on her shoulders so he could turn her to fully face him, he demanded, "Who else besides Opal and Valerie?"

Dazed, she murmured, "I guess I assumed you'd realize I'd met Tina… after all, we met because you came to talk to Tony about her… or I assumed that was why when I saw her name on the victims list. You said you couldn't discuss the case… at least not then, so… I should have told you… but, I don't know anything…"

"You knew Tina?"

"Well… in passing," she whispered, her voice crackling with emotion, "…she sold real estate, so we ran into each other a few times… you know, receptions… the groundbreaking. And, I knew Tony was cheating on his wife with her… common knowledge around the site. I figured…"

"…the possibility would have occurred to me," Jim completed, running a shaky hand across the top of his head. "It didn't but it probably should have. OK… this just makes the need to make sure you're safe all the more urgent. You not going to fight me on this are you?"

Seeing the worry clouding his eyes… worry for her, she shook her head. "No… you have enough pressure on you not to need…"

"Baby, this isn't about me," he interjected, crushing her tightly to him. "We have to assume the killer has seen you… you may be in his sights. I won't risk that… taking this lightly could cost you your life."

Jim could feel the tremors coursing through her body… or maybe they were his. Pulling her a little tighter, he made a silent vow to do whatever it took to make sure she was safe from a madman.

-----

Waiting until the door to the bedroom had closed behind her, Brass reached for his phone. "Sam… I'm going to be late for the briefing, but I need everyone to wait for me to get there. I have a lead on Valerie Davis … maybe a sighting from just before she was grabbed. We'll need to get started on running down these leads immediately."

"Way too close to home, buddy," Jim admitted. "Casey… Casey saw her picture in the paper this morning and remembered talking to her at a coffee shop in Spring Valley."

"Yeah, I'll be there as soon as possible… shouldn't be more than a few minutes late, but I need to arrange a security detail for her… get her safely settled with her friends before I plan to let her out of my sight."

------

Pausing inside the door of_ La Boutique de Cafe,_ Jim took a quick look around before walking to the counter. He had arrived during the lull between the breakfast and lunch rushes so the small shop was virtually empty. The teenage girl refilling the muffin display had to be the same one Casey had described… after all, the odds of there being two teens with pink and black hair in the same small establishment seemed pretty remote.

"Can I help you?"

Tapping the badge affixed to his jacket pocket, Jim forced a smile to his face as he addressed the teen. "Yeah. I'm Det. Brass, LVPD…"

"Oh, my God!" the girl exclaimed. "You're that cop that was on the TV the other night… talking about the Strangler!"

Taking a deep breath, he nodded. "OK, sure… that was me. In fact, I was hoping you might be able to help me with the investigation."

The teen's eyes grew impossibly large as the import of what he was saying hit. "You mean… he might…"

"Let's not get ahead of yourselves, ok," Jim interjected, hoping to keep her from panicking. "What's your name?"

"Kat… Kat Warner… well, Katrina Warner," she whispered, her gaze shifting nervously between him and the uniformed officer hovering in the background.

Giving her his best reassuring smile, Jim nodded encouragingly. "OK, Kat. Can I show you a picture and see if you remember seeing this lady come in here one day last week?"

"OK… but can I get my mom first? She's in the back…"

"Of course… sure," he agreed, hoping the adult presence would help steady the panicking girl. /Hell, who can blame her? I'm barely holding it together myself./

Less than a minute later, a 30'something woman followed Kat out of the shop's kitchen. "I'm Sabrina Warner. How can we help your investigation…?"

"Jim Brass, LVPD," he offered, handing her his card. "It's possible one of the victims of the man we're hunting… the Strangler, came in here not long before she was abducted. I spoke to someone that remembered seeing her here that day and I was hoping your daughter might remember talking to her."

"My daughter?" the woman repeated, pulling the pale-faced girl tightly to her side. "Do you think…"

"We think she waited on this lady based on the report of the other customer and nothing more at this point, Ms. Warner," Jim soothed. "I'd like for Kat to take a look at the picture and see if she remembers anything that might help us find this bas… suspect before he harms anyone else."

Wide-eyed, the woman gave her daughter's shoulders an encouraging squeeze. "Kat… honey?"

The hand that reached out for the picture was decorated with glittery pink nail polish and press-on appliqués of Hello Kitty. The sight caused the acid churning in Brass' gut to roil… the reminder of just how young she was adding to the unbearable pressure of getting the killer before someone else's daughter was hurt. After a moment, the girl raised uncertain blue eyes to meet his. "I've seen her picture in the paper… but… she came in here?"

Sighing, Jim nodded. "We think so… last Thursday. It was raining… the roads were flooding."

"I remember the day it rained, but… I don't remember her," Kat replied. "It got pretty busy then… from people getting off the roads until it passed. It's sort of a blur."

"I get that," Jim acknowledged before pointing to the security camera mounted behind the counter. "If you still have them, I'll need to get a copy of your security tape from that day. It would help us verify the story and nail down the time she was here."

"Sure," the owner agreed. "We keep them a month… just to cover us in case someone files a claim they slipped or something we have proof of what happened."

"Great, thanks," Jim responded, disappointed Kat didn't remember more but relieved to have the tape.

"There was a van… out back. The news reports say he drives a van, right?"

Startled, Jim repeated, "A van? You saw a van that day?"

"Well… no," Kat began, "but Charlie did. He said it was blocking the driveway to the back alley and he had to go around the other end to make our delivery. He was soaked and really pissed."

Flipping open his pad, Brass began to make notes. "Charlie? Who's Charlie?"

Sabrina Warner inserted, "He delivers for our supplier… _Angel Bliss Coffees_. Now that Kat… yeah, I remember. He was ranting about a van blocking the access to the alley."

Pointing to the far end of the parking lot visible through the front windows of the shop, Brass questioned, "There's an alley behind the shops?"

Nodding, Sabrina clarified, "It runs from this end of the shopping center to the other. All deliveries have to be made back there… fire code or something."

"Got it," Brass confirmed. "OK… so, Charlie told you a van was blocking the access?"

"He was running late finishing his deliveries because of the flooded roads and had to double back to go around the other way to make our delivery," Sabrina supplied. "In fact… he had a fender-bender with the florist on the other end of the complex. I heard all about it the next day from Lana… Lana Floyd. She owns the florist shop."

"A fender-bender?"

"Yeah," Kat agreed. "He was so pissed he got charged… for driving the wrong way in the alley."

"He was charged… so the police were called?"

"Yes," Sabrina confirmed. "Lana was leaving to make a few late deliveries of her own… he came in the wrong way… it was raining… the alley's one-way. Fortunately, neither one was going very fast, so it was mostly scratched paint, I think."

"And you're sure they called the police?" Brass repeated, eager to follow the lead of the van. Anything that tied down a van's presence this close to an abduction had to be significant.

"Yeah," Kat responded. "He was so pissed about the ticket. Said his boss would ream him out for the dent in the front bumper of his truck. He was having a seriously bad day."

"Can you give me his last name… a description?" Brass prompted, his gaze shifting back and forth between mother and daughter.

"He's totally cute… dark hair, brown eyes… really buff… goes to WLVU," Kat supplied. "His last name is Piñata, I think."

"Pineda," Sabrina corrected. "His mother works for the same company… Pat is their office manager. Their offices are over on Industrial. I'll write down the address for you when I get the tape."

"This has been a big help. I have to ask…" Jim concluded, handing them the picture of Strangler, "have either of you seen this man hanging around?"

"I've been looking since that picture hit the paper," Kat whispered. "Mom and I are on our own, so we look after each other. I haven't seen him… who could miss those glasses, right?"

Her comment underscored his growing conviction that the glasses were part of a disguise. Jim felt the need to add, "Good. You need to look out for each other… but don't focus too much on those glasses. Glasses can come off, so just be careful and don't drop your guard thinking that's all you need to look for… OK?"

"OK."

"I'll need that tape, Ms. Warner," Brass concluded. "And, I'll have the number of patrols around here increased for the time being… just to be on the safe side… have them stop in for a coffee now and then. Let the officers or me know if you remember anything else… or if you see something that makes you nervous. If the driver of the van is the man we're looking for, I doubt he'd risk coming back here once he realizes we've made the connection, but we'll keep a close eye just to be sure."

Squeezing her daughter tightly to her side, Sabrina offered a brave smile. "Thank you, Capt. We'd appreciate that."

-----

"Care to tell me what all the cloak and dagger is about?"

Looking up to find Chloe's eyes fixed on her, Casey sighed. "Jim's worried… is being protective."

"Does he have reason to be?" her friend demanded, grimacing slightly as she settled back against the pillows piled around her on the suite's couch. "Is this about the Strangler case?"

"What isn't these days? The case is eating him alive," Casey worried. "He was so exhausted this weekend… I'm worried about him."

"You have been since I got here," Chloe observed. "But what has him so worried that you arrived this morning with two policemen in tow is the issue at the moment?"

"It's nothing you need to…"

"Stop trying to coddle me… I won't break," Chloe interjected. "Tell me what's happened to get him this worried. "

"I recognized one of the victims… from her picture in the paper this morning," Casey murmured, reaching for her cup of coffee.

Puzzled, Chloe pressed, "This morning? I thought you told him you'd met the jewelry artist weeks ago?"

"I did," the architect agreed, staring blindly into the cream-laced brew. After a few seconds, she set the cup back on the table, untouched. "I meant… I recognized a second, well, actually, a third one this morning."

"Third? What the hell…"

Reaching out to place a restraining hand on her friend's arm as she tried to rise, Casey ordered, "Calm down…"

"Calm down? Have you lost your mind, Case?" Chloe sputtered. "What… how…"

"I don't know what any of this means, Chlo… neither does Jim," she admitted. "He's assigned me a detail while he checks into what I was able to tell him about meeting that woman last week."

"This is crazy," her friend exclaimed. "We're getting the hell out of this place… you're coming home with Richard and me. We'll keep you safe…"

"I'm not leaving Jim, Chloe," Casey quietly. "My life is with him. He needs me…"

"Do you honestly think you owe him…"

"Yes. I love him, Chloe," she whispered. "You know that. I can't leave him to face what he's up against alone any more than you could do that to Richard. Besides…"

"Besides…?"

"Besides… now that I've asked him to marry me…"

"You asked him?"

Frowning, Casey demanded, "You have a problem with that… my being the one to ask… or is it who I asked?"

"Neither one actually," her friend murmured back. "I just… I'm just trying to picture the hyper-shy, fashion disaster I met over twenty years ago having the balls to ask him to dinner, much less to propose actual, honest-to-God marriage!"

A faint smile brightened Casey's pale face. "Love does that… even to a hyper-shy, fashion disaster."

"Obviously," Chloe agreed, refocusing on the real issue. "But… don't think you're changing the topic. This is serious, Case. Don't you think Jim will be able to concentrate on the case better if he knows you're safely on the other side of the country?"

The first hints of the panic clawing at her make her voice quiver. "This bastard has been killing for almost 30 years, Chlo… from one end of the country to the other. If Jim can't catch him… nowhere is safe... for any of us."

-----

"So… you've confirmed the woman on the tape is Valerie Davis?"

"Yeah, it was her. Based on the tape's time code," Archie began, "Greg obtained the tape from the traffic light at Hacienda and Rainbow. A light grey Econoline passed through the intersection just under six minutes after Valerie Davis left the coffee shop, heading north."

Leaning in to study the grainy image, Gil demanded, "Were you able to isolate a tag number?"

"Sorry, no," the AV tech replied, rubbing his eyes in hopes of relieving the strain of hours of watching videos. "It was still raining… the road was flooded. Whoever was driving the van was bumper to bumper in the middle of it. I can't get a clear shot of the tag. I've requested tape on any intersections that have them for a ten blocks radius of this one. There aren't that many cameras in this of town, but maybe I'll get lucky and get a better shot."

"Ecklie has given us priority in tapping recourses from the other shifts," Grissom reminded him. "Divide this between you and the other AV's. It has priority."

Nodding, Archie queued up another segment of tape. "Before you go… I caught Valerie Davis' SUV going through the same intersection forty-nine minutes after the van."

"You're sure it's hers… 49 minutes later?" Grissom pressed, sagging as the reality the van was probably a red herring hit.

"Yeah, clean, clear shot of the tag," Archie supplied. "The rain had stopped by then, so it wasn't hard."

"OK. I'll…"

"I also got a clear shot of the driver," the younger man interjected. "The driver was male… no sign of Valerie in the vehicle."

"A man?" Grissom exclaimed, his heart slamming into overdrive as a burst of adrenaline charged his tired system.

"Yeah… one wearing a baseball cap."

-----

7-18-2009


	19. Chapter 19 Shifting Sands

Title: By Design, Chapter 19

Author: Sorsha_711  
Fandom/Pairing: CSI; Brass/OCF  
Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations  
Disclaimer: A quick check of my bank account should prove I'm not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh! Anything you recognize belongs to the good people that bring us CSI.  
Summary: A serial killer is stalking the streets of Vegas… hell of a time for Brass to meet the woman of his dreams.

By Design, Chapter 19 --- Shifting Sands

-----

"So… what's this telling us?" Brass demanded. "He grabbed Valerie, stuffed her in his van, and made a clean getaway without anybody seeing him… then risked coming back for the SUV? Hell, a patrol unit was in the back of the stores responding to the fender-bender involving that delivery truck."

"Based on what we know at this point, that seems to be the only possible conclusion… and he probably didn't know about the patrol since it wasn't visible from the street. If he had, my guess is he'd have faded away and we'd have found her SUV in the lot," Gil replied. "This confirms what we already suspected… that he's stealing his victims' vehicles… and it explains why we haven't found most of them."

"That's one hell of a risk," Brass insisted, rubbing his neck in hopes of easing the tense muscles. "I mean… any sign another woman had been grabbed and he'd be walking back into an area crawling with cops."

"Yeah," Catherine agreed. "I still can't understand how he grabbed her without anyone seeing him… not with all the publicity this case is generating."

"It was raining so the parking lot was probably empty… Valerie was probably distracted and worrying about getting on the road. If he had her subdued… stashed the van, he could have come back for her car without that much risk… scoped out what was happening in the parking lot from down the block before he walked up. Like you said, the place would have been crawling with cops if his getaway hadn't been clean," Greg offered from his perch on a stool by the door.

"OK," Gil agreed, "that's as reasonable a take on his MO as we've come up with so far. He's knocking Valerie out… maybe drugs or maybe a blow to the head. Once he has her in the van, he clears the area and parks the van somewhere safe while he goes back for her SVU. He's in and out with both his victim and her vehicle in… an hour, give or take."

"Given the injuries inflicted on the bodies, no way to be sure if some of the wounds were from a struggle… but chloroform makes more sense… less chance of her screaming or making noise that might alert someone she's in trouble," Nick offered. "If he's quick, he's got his victim before she's even aware she's in trouble… no muss, no fuss. The body metabolizes chloroform pretty quickly, so it's not surprising we didn't find any trace in the tox screens."

Nodding, the younger CSI added, "Plays for me. And, he'd have her keys, so no one would pay any attention to a guy getting into 'his' car… nothing out of the ordinary about that. The officer handling the fender-bender could have seen the whole thing and never thought anything about it… why would he?"

"Yeah, the keys would help," Brass agreed, propping himself up against one of the tables.

Nodding, Gil mused, "Since he made a clean grab… no one is going to be looking for her or her car for at least a couple of hours. The van is out of the parking lot within five minutes of her leaving the shop. The SUV leaves less than an hour later… his actions were efficient and methodical."

"Would he have known she wasn't local like the others?" Vartann prompted. "A local woman with a high end SUV goes missing, it's going to generate a lot of attention fast. He couldn't risk assuming no one would be looking for her car that long."

"An hour isn't that long. Think about it… one or two missed calls to a cell phone and we assume someone is in a dead zone or has their phone off. It's raining… the roads are flooded, so most people would probably assume that's the reason someone is late. Under those circumstances, its going to be at least a couple of hours before the alarm is raised. If he moves fast, the odds of his being caught are pretty remote… assuming he makes a clean grab," Catherine argued. "I think Greg has it pegged. An hour was more than enough time to stash her and come back for the SUV without much risk."

Flipping through his notes, Jim shook his head. "This isn't going to help, but Valerie's tag has a dealer frame around it… dealership in Reno. He knew the car was purchased out of town, but that doesn't mean she didn't live here."

"It may not matter to him," Nick speculated, "not if he grabs his victim, stashes her someplace close, and comes back for her car immediately. If she's unconscious and restrained … maybe covered by a tarp, odds are no one would see her. He could risk leaving the van while he goes back for the car… maybe in another parking lot… hide it in plain sight."

"The bus."

Trading a look with the other members of the task force crowding the room, Gil repeated, "The bus?"

"We know he rides the bus. The pass from last week showed he got on and off all over the place… no clear pattern at least on that particular pass," Brass repeated, holding up his hand to halt the response he could see hovering on Grissom's lips. "Consider this… if Greg is right and he grabs his victims using the van, stashes them somewhere close, then comes back for their ride… uses their keys to make it look legit, he has to have a way to get back and forth between the various points."

"The bus," Grissom agreed, an 'ah ha' quality to his tone. "If he's close enough to walk…"

"…he'd have been back sooner than 56 minutes," Brass completed. "If he drove another vehicle, he'd have to risk coming back a third time… or involving someone else. The bus makes the most sense given what we know about Keyser. He's a lone wolf with 30 years of experience in hunting his prey. And… hell, if a woman's been kidnapped, last place we're going to be looking for them is on a bus."

"Yeah," Gil agreed. "Greg… find the closest CAT stops to the coffee shop… better yet, grab anything in a twenty block radius and get Archie the film from last Thursday. Maybe we'll find him getting off the bus on his way to retrieve her SUV. We can narrow the search to the time between when the van and the SUV passed through the intersection."

"And, depending on which bus he arrives on," Catherine added, "we should be able to backtrack to where he got on… get us close to where he dropped off the van."

"Take it on step further," Nick offered, his eyes gleaming with renewed energy. "We'll know where he left the van, so maybe we can track him to where he left her SUV. Like Jim said, he had to grab her, then stash van while he steals the SUV and takes it to his fence. One he's finished his business, he comes back to the stashed van… then…"

"Then it was off to his den of horrors," Jim bit out. "If we can find where he left her SUV, we may be able to get close to his lair… or at least to his partners in the car theft."

"We'll get those tapes immediately and backtrack him as far as we can," Grissom agreed. "This is top priority, Greg. I'll call CAT and let them know you're on the way… warn them we'll be asking for a lot more tape if we find him near the coffeeshop."

"Keep the search parameters to **anyone** fitting the physical description," Jim inserted, "… minus the glasses. Dropping them improves his chances of not calling unwelcome attention to himself… people are focused on them, so the ball cap alone might go un-noticed. Ordinary and unremarkable is all he wants once he's made his grab."

"Logical," Gil agreed. "I'll have Archie and his AV team tag all the men that arrive within our timeline… add half an hour either way, and we'll narrow from there regardless of whether or not they fit the description. I'd rather whittle down than miss someone at this point."

"Are you opening a door on the idea of a partner?" Jim demanded. "You've been pretty damned sure…"

"I still am," Grissom inserted, "at least as far as participation in the murders. But… maybe he's dropping off the keys to another booster… ala Carl Johannson."

"There's a problem with that," Sam Vega observed with a shake of his head. "Whoever is selling the victims' stuff on those auction sites cleaned out their vehicles of anything of value. If he gives the keys to a third party, they would be the ones with the goods not our killer."

"Good point," Catherine agreed, "especially when you add in the personal items the killer had to have taken from the body… shoes, clothing… jewelry. The only one with access to those is their killer."

"Could someone be on to him and he's paying them off with the goods to buy their silence?" Greg speculated.

"This guy kills," Brass declared with an emphatic shake of his head. "He doesn't buy silence, he deals it… the permanent kind."

"So, that takes us back to one man, one killer… a one-person crime wave, Jim's lone wolf," Gil bottom-lined. "Let us start reviewing the bus stop tapes and see what pops."

"The first auction ends later today," Catherine interjected. "We may know more after that. At the least, we'll have a chance of grabbing him in play by the end of the week depending on when and where he picks up his money."

"Yeah, that's **your** top priority, so keep us posted," Gil agreed.

Looking over at Vartann, Sam asked, "Has Auto Detail made any progress on the carjacking angle? It might be helpful to have some possibles lined up if we can trace him to an area where he leaves the SUV."

"Nothing so far," Joe offered. "I'll go see Ed Ellis and give him a kick in the ass, but… some idea of where Keyser's taking the vehicles should make their job a lot easier."

"Yeah… hopefully, we'll have something soon," Jim responded. "Carjackers don't keep their rides any longer than necessary. They want to ditch them and leave the risk of being caught with a hot car to the shop owner. Hot car with a body on it gets chopped immediately… broken down and out the door in hours. My guess is he took the SUV straight there… stopped long enough to clean out of anything he could fence."

"Plays… but it would be better for us if he has his own storage place. That ties to him, not a chop shop," Joe observed. "And… answer me this. Why the hell wasn't there any video of the parking lot outside the coffee shop? That's a newer complex, so they should have been SOP. Tape from a scene would answer most of our questions on his MO, maybe give us a better picture of him or a tag number on the van."

Sipping his coffee, Jim nodded in agreement. "Cameras were up there, but the company that owns the shopping center is in Chapter 11… nobody's minding the store literally. The security company that ran the feeds cut off service two months ago for non-payment. None of the shop owners had a clue they didn't have outdoor surveillance. Tenants like the Warners rented there thinking they had an eye in the sky."

"That's getting to be a common theme around town," the younger cop complained. "Damned economy is only making things harder for us."

"Yeah, it's not helping," Brass agreed. "You got me thinking… is it possible he's making his grabs in places he knows don't have security cameras… at least ones that work? The odds of him getting lucky 100% of the time…"

"…are off the charts," Gil agreed. "That would help explain how we've come up empty in finding film on one of his grabs."

"I'll follow up on that," Sam offered. "I have a neighbor that works for a security company. Maybe he can give us some ideas on how he's avoiding cameras."

"Good… let me know what you find out," Jim ordered. "In the mean time, I promised increased patrols around that center… and yeah, I know our resources are already stretched, but half those shops are female-owned businesses… mostly female staff. Place like that would be ripe pickings for Keyser, especially if he knows there's no security."

"You think he'd go back?"

"I'm not taking the risk at this point," Jim declared, the memory of a young girl's face and _Hello Kitty_ hair clips giving his voice a hard edge. "We have no idea who he might be stalking… other than maybe Casey."

Taking careful note of the lines of exhaustion and worry marking deep grooves in his friend's face, Grissom pressed, "So… how serious to you think the threat to Casey is? Is it more than coincidence she's encountered two of our vics shortly before Keyser grabbed them?"

Clinching his eyes shut against the searing pain of a migraine, Jim finally offered, "My gut says he has her in his sights. One… may be a coincidence, but three…"

"Three?" Catherine exclaimed. "Who's the third?"

"Tina Ortiz," Brass replied, reaching up to rub his temples. "I should have asked sooner… now it seems obvious, but… mistress of a business associate who works for a different company… no personal relationship… it seemed pretty unlikely she'd know her… or it did."

"Yeah… never occurred to me either," she agreed. "What was the connection?"

"Casual encounters… Tina worked for one of the bigger real estate companies in the area, so she showed up as some of the same receptions and parties as Casey… was at the groundbreaking for _Celebration_," Jim supplied. "They both volunteered at a couple of charities… members of a couple of the same civic groups, Rotary and the like. Nothing jumps out like it did with Opal and Valerie."

Hesitating briefly, Gil asked, "So… how is she taking this… development?"

"About like you'd expect," he hedged. "She didn't argue when I assigned her a detail. I stayed long enough to help relocate her friend Chloe to the Venetian… left her there with Mitch and O'Keefe guarding the suite while we followed up on the coffeeshop."

"They'll keep her safe for now," Gil began, "but… we need to talk to her, Jim. We have two confirmed abductions connected to her… she's been the source of some of the best information we have. We need to see what else she can tell us."

"Yeah… I know. I just don't like it."

-----

The door to the suite opened to reveal a tense scene. He didn't immediately recognize the older man that had opened the door. Casey was on the far side of the suite, standing with her back to the room as she stared out the window. Her ex-husband and Richard Malone were face-to-face in the center of the living room having a heated argument. Chloe was reclining on the couch, her mother hovering nearby as they watched the men. Jim had been a cop too long not to recognize a scene in danger of quickly getting out of hand.

"What the hell is going on here?"

His voice cut across the others, the ring of command audible to all of the room's inhabitants. It didn't surprise him that the first to speak was Chloe. Even in her weakened state, she was a force of nature. "My father is being his typical bullying self, abusing all and sundry, Jim. Let me apologize since I know he won't bother and invite you to join us for lunch. It should be served shortly."

"Thank you, Chloe, but I'll need to take a rain-check on lunch… and so will Casey," Jim replied, watching for trouble as the two men continued to glare at each other. "I need her help and this isn't the best place for us to talk."

He heard the strain in his fiancé's voice as she asked, "So… I was right… it was her?"

Walking over to her side, he placed a steadying hand on the small of her back. "Yeah, it was. We're working our way though a lot of new ground that lead generated, but…"

"…you need to see if I might be able to tell you anything else," Casey concluded, her voice wavering with suppressed emotion. "You know I'll help in any way I can."

"Never doubted it, honey," Jim responded, his hand moving in gentle circles over her tense spine in hopes of calming them both. "Are you ready to go or… have I interrupted something you need to finish?"

"No… I'm ready…"

A cold, bitter voice behind them interjected, "She has no place here… has overstayed her welcome for years now. How dare she…"

"Father… for the love of God, either shut up or get out," Chloe declared, her eyes fixed on her friend's stiff back. "You have no say in this… and frankly your option doesn't interest me. Casey is **my** friend and **my** guest, so butt out."

Whipping around to face his daughter, Robert Winslow demanded, "You'd choose her company over your own parents?"

"I don't recall hearing Chloe include me in her comments," Helen Rosenthal observed. "For once in your selfish life, sit down and shut up. Our daughter is an adult. She has a husband and children of her own. She has no obligation to seek our approval on anything… although I tend to think her proposal to Casey has real merit and should be given serious consideration before it's rejected."

"You're actually suggesting we take her back with us… possibly let her lead a madman into our very midst?" Winslow demanded. "Of all the irresponsible…"

"Offering your ex-wife a safe refuge from a killer is irresponsible, Robert?" she taunted. "You have a novel definition of the term… but then you always have."

Looking back at Casey, Jim whispered, "What are they talking about?"

"Chloe and Richard are returning to New York in the morning," she murmured. "Helen has her private jet… and a doctor and nurse will travel with them. Under the circumstances, they both want to be home with their girls."

"Is it safe for her to fly this soon…"

"I'm recovered enough for the trip, Jim, but thank you for worrying about me," Chloe interjected. "I'll be strapped to a hospital bed… they're modifying the passenger cabin as we speak to replace several seats with the bed. My doctor thinks that will greatly minimize the chances of further injury… but I'm going home regardless of the risk. I need to see my girls and I sure as hell won't let them come here until you've arrested that bastard."

"I get that," the policeman agreed. "You and Richard seem to have all the bases covered."

"All but one. We want Casey to come back to New York with us," Richard inserted. "We live on the top floor of a high-security building, Jim. She'll be safe there. She can stay as long as…"

"Thank you… but I've made my decision," Casey interjected. "I'm not abandoning Jim so I can scurry off and hide."

"Babe… much as your support means to me, the thought of you being safe means a hell of a lot more," Jim insisted, a sickening mix of relief and worry making him feel off-kilter. "If you're in New York…"

"Much as it pains me to agree with Robert about anything, he's right," Casey murmured for Jim's ears only. "I'm not going to endanger them by drawing any more attention to them than I already have. If I go, who's to say he won't follow me to New York. If he is stalking me… he'll have to find me here where you're already looking for him. I refuse to lead him to a new killing ground."

"Case… honey… we don't know for sure…"

"Three, Jim," she stressed. "We both know he's out there… the odds are he has me on his list. I refuse to be the cause of him moving his killings to a place completely unprepared to handle what he's capable of doing. And, I refuse to leave you."

"Case…"

"I love you, Jim," she concluded, "and I trust you to keep me safe. Now… I think you said we needed to go to the station so the task force can ask me those questions."

-----

"OK… what have you got? I didn't think you had the CAT tapes yet."

"I don't. Greg just called and he's on his way back with them as we speak," Archie announced, as he swiveled his chair to face the night shift supervisor.

"So…"

"Before I get mired down in that, I wanted to show you something Dawn… the day shift AV tech, and I have been working for a few days." Johnson supplied. "We've been going back over the pictures and video feeds looking for Keyser. And, while I can't get you any better pictures of him, we may have ID'ed a couple of women he appears to be stalking."

"Potential victims?"

"Maybe," the younger man hedged. "I spent a lot of time studying the pictures Casey Edgers took of Opal Shirley… analyzing the way he was watching her."

"OK," the CSI prodded. "I take it you found a pattern to his behavior?"

"We think we have. It's in the details," the younger man insisted. "Look at **way** he's looking at her? Notice the way he seems to… target Opal. He found a place out of the main room to watch her every move… seldom took his eyes off of her. He doesn't do anything to call attention to himself… but he's fixed on her. You can almost see the moment he made his selection… culled her from the rest and began to study her for… weaknesses I guess."

Leaning in to study the images, Grissom growled, "I see what you mean. It's like watching a lion stalking his prey."

Relieved that his supervisor seemed to support his conclusions, Archie offered, "We've been looking at other tape… pictures and we've found five women he's watching in the same way."

"Five other possible targets?"

"We think so. I've printed out the best shots of them I can capture," Archie reported, handing his boss a stack of printouts. "I labeled each of them with the location where the picture was taken, the date of the photograph or video, and the names of anybody I can ID in the area."

"OK… great catch," Gil praised. "I'll get Brass to divide these up and see if we can get names for these women. Any one of them may be in danger. We need to find them and get them into protective custody immediately."

Nodding, Archie added, "That stack only has four. We know the fifth… Casey Edgers. She's definitely caught his attention. I've found her on several of the tapes… running errands, having lunch, that sort of thing, and he's usually around. He's hunting her… and she doesn't have a clue he's there, watching."

-----

Brass knew the eyes of everyone in the area had turned in their direction. Ignoring them, he quickly led Casey into the main interrogation room in the corridor leading to his office. In addition to his fellow detectives and most of the night shift CSI's, Conrad Ecklie, and the riding DA on this investigation, Jack Morales were waiting on the couple's arrival.

Groaning inwardly, he ranted, /Great! Two political hacks are just what we need to make this day a real winner!/

After making the introductions, Jim held out a chair for Casey next to the one he planned to claim for himself. He had seen the not so subtle gesture on Morales's part to direct her toward the chair to his right, but Brass had long ago mastered the skill of ignoring what didn't suit his needs without making it obvious. The hint of a smile that flickered across Grissom's face let him know at least one of his colleagues had seen the byplay and found it amusing.

Laying an intentionally proprietary hand on her shoulder, Jim leaned down to ask, "Would you like a cup of coffee, Case? Water?"

A shaky smile turned up in his direction. "I think I've had enough caffeine for now, honey, but a bottle of water would be great."

Jim smothered a grin at the looks her use of the endearment 'honey' generated at the far end of the table. He caught a fleeting gleam in Casey's eyes and let the rush of pleasure inspired her presence in his life steady him … /my fiancé… but I guess this isn't the best time to announce we're engaged/.

Squeezing her shoulder in silent acknowledgement, he moved over to a credenza at the end of the room where someone had placed a coffeepot and a cooler of bottled drinks. After fixing himself a cup of coffee, he snagged her a bottle of water and took his seat.

It was Morales that asked the question those that had never met her were silently asking… only Conrad Ecklie and himself to be precise. "So that we are clear from the beginning… am I correct in assuming you and Capt. Brass have a… prior relationship of some type?"

A slight frown betrayed her anger at the intrusive question. "'A prior relationship of some type'? Perhaps you'd be willing to clarify just what you're implying by that choice of words."

Eyebrows popped up around the table causing Jim to fight back a smirk. The look on Sofia's face as she battled the desire to laugh was almost his undoing. Before he could step in to calm the waters, Casey added, "And let's be clear on this point… I'm not a suspect. I came here of my own volition to try and help the investigation, so I don't think a little common courtesy is too much to expect. But, if the need to be clear is so important it justifies your rude, intrusive question, yes, Jim and I most definitely have a 'prior relationship' of the romantic variety. That's hardly a secret… ask the Sheriff since we've seen him at several social occasions over the past year."

Twisting off the top of her bottle of water with no small amount of force, she concluded, "And, while I've known from the beginning that Jim was lead detective on the Strangler investigation, he's not given to discussing the particulars of his work over dinner… or over our pillow. I didn't know the name of the latest victim until this morning when we shared the paper at breakfast. Satisfied or do you need further clarification?"

Caught off guard by her spirited response, Conrad noted, "The newspaper article on the latest victim was in yesterday's paper, not this morning's."

"We never got around to reading the paper yesterday," she responded. "We were… otherwise engaged."

Quickly swiping his hand over his mouth to cover the wholly inappropriate grin lighting his face at her accurate if oblique turn of phrase, Jim redirected the conversation along a more conventional route. "As Casey was saying, she saw the picture of Valerie Davis this morning and realized she had talked to her recently… knew she had a daughter. Valerie is the third of the Strangler's victims that she recalls meeting… two of them shortly before they were abducted."

"Who are the others?" Morales prompted, adding a few notes to the tablet in front of him.

"Opal Shirley and Tina Ortiz," Jim replied. "Casey met Opal at an art show at one of those Friday night street parties they have in the Arts District. She exhibits her photography in a gallery near the one where Opal was a featured artist. I didn't know about Tina until this morning after she saw Valarie's picture."

"What can you tell us about Tina?" Gil asked.

"I didn't know her well," she clarified. "I knew she was having an affair with Tony Osteen. We both volunteer… or she did, at _CASA_ and _Celebrate Now_. I ran into her at Rotary meetings… Chamber functions… a handful of parties and receptions. I didn't know she was dead until… well, months after her murder. Since I didn't know anything that seemed relevant… and Jim had told me he couldn't discuss the case…"

"Why didn't you know about her murder?" Sam asked. "It was pretty high profile… got a lot of coverage in the local media."

"Yeah, I wondered that too, so I checked the dates. I wasn't in town for two weeks during the time it happened," she supplied. "I was in Puerto Rico for my goddaughter's wedding and a vacation. The morning I met Jim… I had just gotten back into town the night before."

"Where did you meet?"

"Outside the front gate at _Celebration Center_," Casey replied. "I was there for a walk-thru with Tony and we exchanged cards while we waited on the guards to let us inside. He never told me why he was there, only that he needed to talk to Tony."

"OK," Ecklie agreed, forcing his gaze away from their witness. /Wow… that's the babe Friedman was talking about! I'd heard she was hot, but… damn!/ "And, you didn't mention knowing Ms. Ortiz to Capt. Brass until this morning?"

"That's what happened," she agreed. "I mean… a lot of people knew Tina. Our paths crossed on a fairly regular basis… polite chit-chat and not much more. I would have said something earlier if I knew anything that might help find her killer."

Nodding, Conrad prompted, "So… what else can you tell us, Ms. Edgers?"

"I… I'm not sure," she admitted. "And, please call me Casey."

Gil suggested, "Since it seems your prior encounters with the other victims occurred while you was going about your normal daily activities, maybe that's a good place to start. It may give us new insight into his habits. Until now, we hadn't been able to establish any pattern to his movements."

"Before we start, I think we need to get this on the record. Do you recognize the man in this photo, Casey?" Ecklie asked, sliding a picture of their suspect taken for a surveillance tape in her direction.

A notable tremor caused her hand to shake as she slowly extended her hand to accept the photograph. "I've seen the picture in the paper and on the news, Undersheriff. If I thought I'd seen him, I'd have told Jim immediately."

"OK. It's possible he may change his appearance to go unnoticed. Is there anyone else that seems to always be around… seems to be watching you or hovering around while you run errands?" Catherine asked, offering a supportive smile to the other woman.

A jerky shrug of her shoulders accompanied, "I see a lot of people regularly, Catherine. People from my neighborhood… or that work in the same complex as my office… shop or eat out in the same places. It happens all the time… for everybody… doesn't it?"

"Sure it does, honey," Jim soothed. "But did you see anyone in more than one of those settings?"

Wide blue eyes stared blankly at him for several seconds before she whispered, "I… I don't know. It's all a blur…"

"Babe… you need to take a deep breath and try to relax," Jim urged, reaching over to capture her hand in a comforting grip. 'You're safe… no one can hurt you here, but we need your help if we're going to find this bastard before another woman is grabbed. You can't do that if you panic. OK?"

Nodding faintly, her eyes clinched shut as she struggled to clamp down on her raging emotions. Her voice cracked as she whispered, "I know… but… if I had only noticed…"

"Stop… don't go there," he murmured back. "You talked to a lady in line at a coffee shop about her daughter's picture. You went to an art show. You volunteered at a charity… went to work. You didn't do anything wrong. This bastard has been getting away with this for over 27 years, Case. He knows how to blend, how not to attract unwanted attention… probably seem harmless. Help us catch him, but you're not responsible for his crimes."

"I wish…"

Sighing, Jim interjected, "Wishing doesn't change anything, Case. Now isn't the time for second-guessing yourself. Trust me, baby… you'll do enough of that later… whether you should or not. For now, you need to focus and talk to us."

Squeezing his hand tightly, she finally nodded. "Off the top of my head… no one stands out. It all seems so… ordinary."

"OK, we'll come back to that later. Let's walk back through everything you can tell us about the three women you knew or at least met," Sofia suggested. "That should give us a starting point at understanding how he works… maybe his patterns."

"Casey… you look like you need to regroup," Gil interjected. "Why don't we let you catch your breath before we get started?"

----

Watching as Casey disappeared into the lady's room down the hall, Brass dropped back into his chair as he met Grissom's gaze. "OK… so what do you want to say that you needed her out of the room?"

Sliding a folder in Jim's direction, Gil offered, "AV has ID'ed a pattern to Keyser's behavior. Archie and Dawn used the tapes and photos we have to look for other women he seems to be watching… possibly staking. Casey is one of those women."

"What?" Jim demanded. "Why the hell…"

"I came directly from the lab to this meeting… now is the first chance I've had to tell anyone what they found," Gil interjected, holding up his hand to halt the detective's complaints. "That file contains everything they could find on the other women. You need to get people working on trying to ID them quickly so we can get them into protective custody until we know more."

Nodding, Jim pulled out his cell and called his counterpart on the day shift. "Don… It's Jim. I need your help."

"Yeah, but what isn't these days. Here's the thing… we have four women we need to track down sooner rather than later… possible targets of the Strangler," Brass began. "We have photos and whatever other information the lab could add to the prints. I need you to find them."

"Not much more I can tell you other than we think they're in danger."

"Great, thanks. We're in the conference room down from my office. I'll have Friedman bring you the file with the pictures," Jim concluded, waving for the uniformed officer just outside the door. "We just turned up several new leads and my team is fixing to hit the streets running them down. Getting those women out of harm's way is top priority while we can focus on that."

"Understood. If you have questions, call Archie Johnson or Dawn Leavitt at the AV lab," Jim concluded, covering the mouthpiece long enough to give Friedman instructions. "They'll have the best information since they made the connections… but keep me posted. We'll all feel better knowing we may have some of his potential victims off the streets before he can grab them."

Ending the call as he spotted Casey reemerging from the restroom, he concluded, "That won't happen until we get the bastard. Let me know if I need to get you anything. Thanks."

-----

A/N: Sorry for the long delay since the last update. RL is for real. More soon… I promise!

2-7-2010


	20. Chapter 20 Puzzle Pieces

Title: By Design, Chapter 19

Author: Sorsha_711  
Fandom/Pairing: CSI; Brass/OCF  
Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations  
Disclaimer: A quick check of my bank account should prove I'm not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh! Anything you recognize belongs to the good people that bring us CSI.  
Summary: A serial killer is stalking the streets of Vegas… hell of a time for Brass to meet the woman of his dreams.

By Design, Chapter 19 --- Puzzle Pieces Scattered on the Table

-----

Looking up from his notes, Gil asked, "Casey… can you run us through your regular routines… the places you frequent, that sort of thing?"

"Well… I'm a creature of habit," she began, "so I go to the same places most of the time… the same stores… the gym… work… my place, Jim's place."

"I know we've asked this already but, you've had a few minutes to think about it. Have you noticed anyone that always seems to be around… maybe someone that shows up too frequently?" Sam questioned.

A confused shrug of her shoulders accompanied, "Like I said, day in day out, I see the same people over and over, Sam… most of them I don't really know... a first name maybe, if that. I have no way of knowing if they have a legitimate reason for being there."

"True… but do you see the same people at all of those places?" Jim interjected. "I'm not sure you've let yourself fully accept the fact that someone is stalking you, babe. It scares the hell out of me too, but… you need to focus on anyone that stands out as a possible stalker."

"I… it's overwhelming, but… I'm not trying to deny the obvious. I'm just not sure what you mean… what you're asking," she admitted, the confusion and panic gripping her mind making it difficult to concentrate. "I…"

"OK, let's try this. Have you seen anyone that was someplace where it seemed unexpected… an odd coincidence? Think about it… say, someone you usually see at the deli near your office that you later saw in Henderson … or someone from your gym at that bookstore you like?" Jim emphasized. "Think, honey. This could be important."

Slowly, she began to nod. "There was a man."

"OK, good," Jim encouraged. "What made him stand out in your memory?"

Frowning as she tried to organize her thoughts, she murmured, "I've seen him at the market… and in some of the stores near my house."

"OK, so why are you thinking of him now?" Catherine interjected.

"I saw him once in the _Pendale's_ near Jim's house," she replied. "It was late one evening a month or so ago… we'd been out to dinner. We stopped to pick up a few things. I remember thinking it was odd that I'd see him in grocery stores in different parts of the valley. He nodded at me like he recognized me too."

"Good… that's exactly the kind of thing I was asking about," Jim praised, silently wishing she had mentioned it to him then. "Have you seen him other places?"

"Around my neighborhood… I assume he lives in the same part of town as me," she replied. "Do you think…"

"Too soon to know, honey," Jim quickly replied. "Anybody else jump out at you?"

A shaky sigh preceded, "I sometimes see people from the office or job sites other places, but that happens to everybody. I run into people I work with all over the place… but none of that seems odd. Most of the time, I have no idea where the people I meet live, so… it's not unusual seeing them in different places. That one guy… if it had been a restaurant… that would make sense, but a grocery store…"

"What does he look like?" Catherine prompted.

Sighing, Casey offered, "6'1" or 2"… brown hair. Average looking."

"OK… what else?"

"He must workout a lot," she mused. "He always seems to be wearing workout clothes… like he just left his gym… maybe works at one."

"Would you call him muscular?" Jim asked.

"Not really… I mean he seems fit and all, but he's not overly muscular," she qualified. "Honestly, I really haven't paid him that much attention."

"Do you think you could describe him to a sketch artist?" Ecklie asked, trading a look with Morales.

"Yes… but it would probably be easier for me to draw him myself," she admitted.

"Are you an artist?" Morales asked, hoping her skills were up to the task.

"I'm an architect," Casey supplied. "I'm used to translating my thoughts to paper."

Jim smiled reassuringly as he inserted, "She's a damn fine artist too, Jack. Casey has real talent."

"Spoken like a completely impartial observer," Catherine teased, hoping to relax their witness enough to keep her talking.

Nodding, Jim agreed. "Completely. Case… you take a lot of pictures. Maybe you caught someone in the background of some of those shots."

Looking up to meet her lover's eyes, Casey nodded. "Maybe… I've taken hundreds… well, more than that over the past few years."

"Why do you take a lot of pictures?" Morales pressed. "You mentioned something about displaying your work at a gallery?"

"Photography is one of my passions," Casey replied. "I usually carry one of my cameras with me so I can take pictures of things that catch my eye. I'd be happy to let you go through them. If the Strangler has been following me…"

Hearing the tremor in her voice as the reality she had crossed paths with a serial killer became terrifyingly real, Jim finally gave into his impulses and reached over to pull her into his arms. "It'll be OK, honey. We'll find him. I won't let him hurt you. OK?"

After a few seconds, he felt her smile against his throat. "I never doubted that, Jimmy… and I'm not some helpless damsel in distress you know."

Chuckling softly at her attempt at teasing him, he agreed. "I know that only too well, beautiful. Indulge my delusions, OK?"

Tightening her hold on his waist, she whispered, "Just this once."

Rolling her eyes at Sam and Joe, Sofia interjected, "I hate to bust up this touching scene, but we kind of need to focus."

Seeing two sets of irritated blue eyes swing in her direction, she stifled a laugh. "OK, matching his and hers glares… that's just scary."

Hearing a snort of barely contained amusement to her right, she asked, "Is there anybody else that stands out?"

"That guy was the only one that seemed really out of place," Casey offered, reluctantly settling back into her chair as Jim pulled away. "There are a couple of other men… I see them pretty often. I can sketch them too if it would help."

"Tell us about them," Conrad urged.

"Well… there's an older man in my neighborhood… I see him a lot… usually when I go for a jog," Casey offered. "He must be in his late seventies… maybe early eighties. I catch him watching me… he's sort of creepy, but he can barely walk without his cane, so I just ignore him."

"What do you mean he watches you?"

"Well… just that," she answered with a shrug. "He sits in the park down from my house some mornings. I figure he watches all the women. He never does anything… just stares."

"OK, anybody else?" Gil prompted.

"The only other one that stands out is an attorney that works for one of the firms in our building," she explained. "He used to make a pest of himself showing up at our offices with boxes of Krispy Kremes or tickets to shows… dropping by to chat, wouldn't take no for an answer. He finally backed off once he realized I was involved with Jim, but… he was a real jerk."

"What's his name?" Jim demanded, irritated by the thought of someone bothering her. He ignored the grins his protective attitude produced across the table.

"Mark Kaplan," she supplied. "Lauren says he's dating someone now, so I don't remember seeing him around much lately."

"Great," Ecklie responded, adding the name to his notes. "How about cars or other vehicles?"

"The average car… no, sorry," Casey replied, with an apologetic shake of her head. "Most of the time, cars don't register. A classic or something special… out of the ordinary..."

"So a van wouldn't catch your attention?" Morales pressed.

"Probably more so than cars," she admitted. "I see a lot of vans and trucks at job sites… subs, deliveries. They're just background noise for me… though I guess I've been paying them more attention lately like every other woman in Vegas."

Wanting to keep her talking, Gil went back to his earlier question. "Do you have regular days for running errands… a regular pattern for when you grab a cup of coffee or go to the gym?"

"Well… I live by my Blackberry at work… run most of my errands at the same time each week," she confessed. "Jim loves to tease me about being so anal."

"Organized," Jim substituted. "I've never called you anal."

"OK… either works for us. Let's start with the regular errands," Gil interjected.

Nodding, she offered, "I run most of my routine errands on Saturday morning. I usually get my car washed at the _Bumpers_ near my house. Then I run by the dry cleaners… it's the _Cottonwood Cleaners_ down the street from my office."

"Do you ever go to the one over on Eastern Avenue?" Sam asked, hoping to find a link to the one where Libby Stevens had worked.

"No," she responded. "That's way out of my way. I don't go to that part of town much."

Trading a disappointed look with Vega, Gil asked, "Where to next?"

Feeling a little dazed by the sudden, cloying fear eating at her, Casey stared blankly at Gil for a few seconds as she regrouped. "Well, if I need anything from the drug store, I usually go there next… the _Medicine Cabinet_ near my office."

"I sometimes go to the produce market over on Industrial," she ticked off. "There's a bakery on Charleston near the Arts District… _The Cookie Jar_. They make really great bread and bagels… or I might go to the Mediterranean market on Spring Mountain. Depending on what I'm looking for I sometimes go to an Asian grocery over in the Chinatown Plaza… _Lemongrass_. I get most of my regular groceries at _Nathan's_."

"Which one?" Sofia interjected.

Pausing to take a deep breath, Casey replied, "There's one a few blocks from my house… I don't go to any of them every week. I tend to rotate between them. _Nathan's_ is usually my last stop before I run back to the house… even with a cooler, it's too hot to leave groceries in the car too long in Vegas."

"OK, where else?"

Sighing, she added, "I usually stop by the photography gallery over in the Arts District… _Freeze Frame_. If I need framing or art supplies, there's a little place down the street… _U Color My World_. I may stop by the post office while I'm in the area. There are several bookstores I like… the used bookstore over on Rainbow near Sahara is my favorite. If Jim's off, we usually have plans… or I may meet friends for lunch or shopping if he's tied up… depends."

"OK… where do you shop for clothes?" Catherine inquired. "I'd love to know where you got that dress."

A distracted smile preceded, "Most of my clothes are original designs made for me by my goddaughter. Bella started her own design house last year. She's always sending me something. She'll be thrilled to know you like her work."

"I take it she doesn't live in Vegas?"

"No, Florida… South Beach," Casey clarified. "Her mom is my best friend… we met at Columbia. I'm godmother to all three of Mitzi's children."

"So… you don't shop locally for clothing?"

Closing her eyes as she rubbed her temples, Casey offered, "I do, but I'm not a shopaholic… well, except for shoes, so I don't go all that often. There's a shoe shop in downtown Henderson… a couple of places at the _Forum Shops_. A good friend of mine… Betsy Hernandez, owns a shop over in Spring Valley… _Bets Boutique_. She just added a line of Bella's designs, so I shop there to support them both. I can give you a list of places if it would help."

"Great… how about restaurants?" Sam asked.

"Well… a deli near my office… _Purple Daze_… the coffee shop at the entrance of my building," she ticked off. "Jim and I meet for breakfast several mornings a week at the _Mesa Diner_. We have a few favorite restaurants… _JT's_… _The Cuban Café_… _Oliver's_… a little Italian place near my house… _In-N-Out_. Other than those, we tend to mix it up and try new places."

"OK," Gil pressed. "Saturday morning is mostly errands?"

Nodding, she added, "I try to get most of them finished before noon, so I can have the rest of the day free for when Jim gets up… or I may go in to work if I have a deadline looming. I volunteer at the _CASA_ shelter and at _Celebrate Now_… usually Wednesday or Friday evenings… the odd lunch hour or evening when my schedule permits."

"When do you workout… and which gym?" Nick prompted.

"I'm a member at the _Reps_ nearest my house. My times vary… I have a _Bowflex_ at home… I jog several mornings a week, so I only go to take a class or swim most of the time. The when depends on my schedule," she supplied. "Usually I go after work… maybe on Saturday mornings if I didn't get there during the week. I tend toward Yoga classes… belly dancing… depends on my mood. They offer those at 9 and 1."

"The _Reps_ on Pinion?" Nick repeated, flipping through his notes to confirm that Jackie Milley, a 29 year old single-mother of two had been a member there as well. The kindergarten teacher had been ID'ed a few weeks before, a Jane Doe found along a desolate stretch of road in Utah.

"Yeah, that's the one," she agreed. "Why?"

Sliding a picture of the woman across the table to her, Nick prompted, "Do you recognize this woman?"

After studying the picture for several seconds, she shook her head. "Sorry, but no I don't. Should I know her?"

Pausing for a moment, he asked, "How long have you been going to that _Reps_?"

"Since last summer... June I think," Casey offered. "Why?"

"This lady was a member of the same gym, but she disappeared before you joined, so there's no reason for you to have recognized her. I just needed to be sure," Nick replied. "Were you a member somewhere else before joining there?"

Still fixing him with a worried frown, she nodded. "_The Works_… two blocks down from my office."

"Why did you stop going there?" Sofia asked. "That location must have been more convenient."

"Yeah, but they don't offer as many classes… and…" she began.

"And?" the other woman prompted.

Hesitating, she admitted, "There was a guy… he creeped me out. He came on way too strong… seemed to think he was God's gift. The owner had several complaints about him, including several from me, but he didn't do anything to resolve the problem, so I left. I wasn't the only one… I know of half-a-dozen other women that left about the same time I did."

"Do you remember his name?"

"Tom Keller… he's a doctor, I think," she supplied. "Apparently, the owner didn't want to offend him, so I walked."

"Describe him."

Turning her head to meet her fiancé's gaze, she had no difficulty in reading the anger this information inspired. "5'10" or 11"' maybe… brown hair, thinning on top… Mr. Universe wannabe…"

"Muscular?"

"Oh… well, yes, but… he didn't wear glasses… at least not at the gym," Casey cautioned, mentally comparing the man in question to the sketches she had seen of the Strangler. "The kind of glasses in the sketches… I doubt he could see well enough to leave them in the locker room."

"Maybe," Jim hedged. "Did you notice any tattoos, marks… other distinguishing features?"

Puzzled by the evasive answer, she held his gaze for several seconds trying to understand what he wasn't saying. Finally she shook her head. "Maybe, but… I'm not sure. Catherine said earlier he might be changing his appearance. Does…"

"No scars?"

"I don't remember, but… the man gave off a strange vibe, so I never looked that closely," she admitted, unsure why he were avoiding answering her question. "He's the kind of creep that makes you want to cover up… leave so he can't see you."

"OK… probably nothing more than it seems, but we'll pay him a visit… along with the owner of that gym," Jim promised. "I think you told me the same cleaning service does your house and the offices. Which one?"

"_Fitzgerald,_" she replied. "I was pleased with their work at the office, so I hired them to do my place too."

Pulling a picture of Becky Trotter from the file in front of her, Catherine asked, "Do you recognize this woman?"

"No. I'm sorry, but… no."

"Don't be." Spreading all of the remaining pictures out in front of her, Catherine prompted, "Do you recognize any of these women?"

"No," she murmured, her voice flat and empty of its normal energy, "…other than I remember seeing their pictures in articles on the Strangler."

"Where do you have your car insurance… your homeowner's policies?" Sofia prompted.

"The _Honeywell Agenc_y on Spring Valley," Catherine supplied. "The owner is a friend of the real estate agent I used when I bought my house… you know how it works."

"Have you ever been to their offices?" the female detective pressed. Angie Simmons had been an account manager at that location.

Feeling overwhelmed, Casey paused for a moment and stared at the table for several seconds before she could continue. "A couple of times… when I took out the policies... and after I bought a new car and needed to update my coverage. Oh, and… I had to file a claim on my homeowner's policy after a break-in…"

"What? You never told me you'd had a break-in at your place," Brass interjected, reaching out to grab her hand. "When…"

"Someone broke the back window in my garage last year," she offered, twining her fingers with his. "I was out of town on business. Andy… you've know Andy Mitchell, my neighbor… he saw someone in the backyard and called the police. He must have spooked the kid because he ran off before he could stop him. That's when I put in the security system."

"Kid?"

Frowning, she nodded. "There were several break-ins in the neighborhood about that time… lawn mowers and tools stolen from garages or storage sheds. They arrested a teenager that lives several blocks over not long after that… recovered some of the stuff he stole. I assumed…"

Coming to an abrupt halt, she stared at Jim in horror. "Oh, God! You don't think…"

"Probably nothing other than it seems, baby," Jim soothed, giving her hand a squeeze, "but, we'll double-check the facts to be sure. We can't afford to miss anything at this point. Give me the date and I'll follow-up."

Holding his gaze, she finally nodded. "It happened last year before we met… May, I think. I was in New York on business when it happened. That would have been the last time I was in the insurance office until I bought the car. I can check my records and get the date if it would help"

"That would be great. You have a new car?" Nick repeated, hoping to distract her from further questions about the identity of the would-be burglar. Until they knew more, idle speculation was only going to upset her.

Breaking eye-contact with Jim, Casey looked his way. "Yeah… a Porsche Cayman."

"Sweet ride!" Greg interjected.

A sad smile preceded, "My granddad loved performance cars… I helped him rebuilt a couple of roadsters when I was a kid. Porsches remind me of him."

"So… did you buy from a local dealership?" Nick prompted.

Puzzled by the question, she replied, "I brought it at Livingston Motors. Why?"

"What was the name of the salesman you dealt with?" Nick pressed, a non-threatening smile plastered on his handsome face as he waited for her answer.

"Ahh… Doug… Doug something."

"Doug Slann?"

Startled, she nodded. "How…?"

"He was Leann Sullivan's boyfriend," Nick supplied, trading a look with the rest of the team as a possible connection to their victim presented itself. "Dave Potter, the detective that worked the case originally, looked at him pretty hard didn't he, Sofia?"

"Yeah," Sofia agreed. "From what Dave uncovered, Doug and Leann had a pretty volatile relationship… shouting matches…"

"Shouting matches?" Casey repeated, her eyes widening in surprise.

"Yes," Sofia agreed. "Does that trigger a memory?"

Nodding, Casey replied, "When I went by to pick up the car, I was waiting… in the lobby for them to finish detailing it. A woman came storming into the showroom. She and Doug had a huge blowout… he was cheating on her or something."

Sliding a photograph in her direction, Nick prompted, "Is this the woman you saw that day?"

"I… honestly, I wasn't paying that much attention," Casey admitted. "All I remember is blond… young."

"OK. Tell us what happened."

A trembling hand reached up to shove her hair back from her face. "Well… they were both yelling so it was hard to follow… and they were shorthanding it."

"Shorthanding it?" Gil asked, confused by the term.

"Yeah… you know… a couple with a history doesn't start over every time they have an argument," Casey offered. "They shorthand it… a name or a reference that puts the rest out there without the need to repeat it."

"Ah… OK, I know what you mean" the CSI acknowledged, ignoring the faint smirk on Catherine's face that he had needed to ask… again. "So they were arguing… shorthanding it. What happened next?"

Taking a shuddering breath, she continued. "The manager came out and broke it up… threatened to fire Doug… told her to get out and not come back. There were half dozen or so people besides me in the showroom, so he apologized to us… made a joke about getting a floorshow everywhere you go in Vegas. We all laughed… which made her mad as hell. She flounced out in a snit. That's about it."

Nodding, Sofia offered, "That fits with what we know about their relationship… reason Slann was looked at so hard. Apparently, they did that a lot. What was that date?"

Scanning her Blackberry, she replied, "March 5th."

"OK. Let's talk about Tina Ortiz for a moment," Gil began, adding the date to his notes. "You said you knew she was having an affair with Tony Osteen. Did he tell you or did you find out from someone else?"

"Ah… well, I didn't know it was Tina until later, but his wife showed up at the _Celebration_ site not long after work began. Allie was out for blood from what I heard," Casey recalled. "Their fight… the fact he was having an affair were common knowledge by the end of the shift. You know how workplace gossip takes on a life of its own."

"Oh, yeah… know it well," Catherine agreed. "How did you find out Tina was the other woman?"

"Worst way imaginable," Casey sighed. "I walked in on them in the construction trailer bathroom. They forgot to lock the door. It was months before I could look Tony in the eye."

"Ouch… the eyes or anywhere else," the CSI sympathized. "What else can you tell us about her?"

"Well… I think I mentioned this already, but we volunteered at the same women's shelter… and at _Celebrate Now_. We were both members of a couple of civic groups," was the distracted reply. "The thing is… I didn't really know Tina. Their affair bothered me, so I avoided her whenever I could. I don't remember having a real conversation with her more than a handful of times."

"OK, we get that. We just need to make sure we've looked at this from all angles. We never know when we might find a vital lead," Catherine gently explained. "Is there anything about her that stands out in your memory?"

Sighing, Casey paused briefly before offering, "She showed up at the ER when Tony took me there for stitches..."

"Whoa… stitches?" Jim demanded.

"Yeah, a stupid incident at the job site," she supplied, absently reaching up to rub a faint scar barely visible under the fringe of her bangs. "I was there to finalize the details of the first part of the demo work. There was a woman arguing with a couple of the security guards… I think they found her behind one of the buildings… working. She lost it and threw a broken bottle at one of them… he ducked and it clipped me… here. Tony took me to the ER for stitches."

"You needed stitches?"

Sighing, Casey nodded, "Tina showed up an hour or so later… the ER was packed so, we'd to wait. I guess she was hoping they could grab a little alone time using me for cover… pissed me off royally. I wasn't in the mood to be accommodating."

"Did you speak to her?" Catherine asked.

"No… Tony saw my reaction and got her out of there before I could say anything. He came back within a few minutes," Casey replied. "He was angry with her… pissed with the guards for letting that woman get onto the site. He was in rant mode… I think he thought they were letting the hookers use the site in exchange for freebies. Apparently, the one that threw the bottle had been a problem for a while… even knew her by name… Justine… Something. He kept muttering…"

"Justine?" Gil interjected, clearly surprised by this piece of information. Trading a look with Sofia Curtis, he insisted, "You're sure that was her name?"

Puzzled, she looked over at the lab's night shift supervisor. "Yeah, actually I am. Tony kept repeating himself. My head was throbbing so it kind of… got stuck in my memory."

Flipping through the files in front of her, Sofia pulled out a photograph and slid it in Casey's direction. "This is a picture of a prostitute that grew up in the area around the _Celebration_ site. She was recently identified as one of the unknown Jane Does found in Lincoln County. Is it possible she's the one that threw the bottle at you, Casey?"

After studying the picture for several seconds, she finally admitted, "I'm not sure… I wasn't really paying her any attention. I was talking to Tony and Phil Bridges. One of the guards shouted, 'look out'… I turned in time to see the bottle coming at me, but not in time to duck. After that… I was dazed and bleeding, so I didn't get a good look at her. Justine is all I remember, but… Tony would know."

"And Tina showed up at the ER hoping to see him?" Catherine completed, trading a look with Brass. The connections were starting to line up… with Casey at the center of the converging lines.

"That's about the size of it," Casey agreed. "I had a splitting headache… needed seven stitches, so I wasn't very welcoming. Tony jumped in quickly… pulled her outside and sent her home."

"Was that the last time you saw Tina?"

"No, I ran into her a couple of times last summer." Pausing, she added, "Now that I think… I ran into her at the sales office for one of Bill Dorton's developments. I'm pretty sure that was the last time I saw her."

"At a sales office?"

Too drained to notice the spike in interest that comment generated, Casey nodded. "Tina drove up as I was leaving. We talked for a few minutes… she was complaining about her shoes hurting her feet… fabulous pair of Manolo Blahniks I'd been lusting over for months. I remember teasing her that bare feet wouldn't go with her look. Stupid thing to remember, right?"

Brass felt his heart skip a beat as she shared the last story. Ignoring her comment, he asked one of his own. "What's the name of that development, baby?"

Casey turned to study him trying to understand the sudden tension in his voice. "_Rio Pueblo_. Why?"

-----

Returning to the conference room after settling Casey in his office, Jim observed, "We need to start running down some of the leads she gave us immediately. Connie can keep an eye on her while I'm out."

"Has it occurred to her that she won't be able to leave and go home yet… that it might be a while before she can?" Catherine asked. "She crossed paths with more of our victims than she realizes… the odds he hasn't see her aren't good."

"And that can't be a coincidence," Vega inserted. "She's our common denominator... the link we've been looking for."

Glaring on the other detective, Jim growled, "Are you suggesting she's involved…"

Holding up his hand to halt Brass's angry defense of his lover, Sam clarified, "Bad choice of words. That's not what I meant. Whether he's following her or her routines take her into his feeding grounds doesn't matter; Casey's the key. Hell, I'm willing to bet she crossed paths with some of the others too… the art supply place she mentioned was one of the last places Robin Gifford was seen the day she disappeared."

"Yeah," Sofia interjected, "and Lindsey Plato was an art student at WLVU. That store was on the list of places where she shopped. Casey might not have worked with her, but her insurance policies are with the same agency where Angie Simmons worked. Becky Trotter worked for the same cleaning service that does both her office and home."

"Fitzgerald is one of the largest cleaning companies in Vegas," Jim pointed out. "The odds of her cleaning for Casey…"

"What are the odds of her crossing paths with three of our victims, Jim… four if Justine Olivetti turns out to be the woman that threw the bottle at her?" Sofia observed. "Remote at best. Add in the photo evidence Archie's generated… Hell, you met her while you were investigating Tina Ortiz's murder."

"We need to map this all out, but it seems clear to me we've found overlap in our cases… common stores or chains… places," Gil agreed. "Sam's right. She's the key… or at least helps connects some of the dots. My bet is… he's stalking her and grabbing women that catch his eye in the process."

-----

A/N --- Well, at least you can't say I write short chapters!! ;-D

Feedback would be appreciated. Sigh, not a single comment on the last chapter. Sigh! Anyway, more to come soon. I'm currently working on Chapter 30'something and hope to finish _Design_ in the next few weeks, RL permitting. My game plan is to post at least one chapter a week, maybe more if I'm properly encouraged… hint, hint!

2-12-2010


	21. Chapter 21 Burning a Little Shoe Leather

Title: By Design, Chapter 21

Author: Sorsha_711  
Fandom/Pairing: CSI; Brass/OCF  
Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations  
Disclaimer: A quick check of my bank account should prove I'm not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh! Anything you recognize belongs to the good people that bring us CSI.  
Summary: A serial killer is stalking the streets of Vegas… hell of a time for Brass to meet the woman of his dreams.

By Design, Chapter 21 --- Burning a Little Shoe Leather

-----

Blowing out a frustrated breath, Brass dropped wearily into his chair at the conference table. "We need to put every man Casey's come in contact with since moving to Vegas under a microscope and see what pops. We can't assume it's a stranger that's obsessed with her. It may be someone she sees all the time and doesn't realize is stalking her."

"Well… she comes in the closest contact with you, Jim… very close," Gil observed, ignoring the choked off sounds emanating from several members of their team. "As stated, that order would include you."

"It does," he agreed, glaring at Sanders and Vartann, "but, I didn't meet her until after Tina Ortiz was killed. Before that, I was in Jersey for my aunt's birthday when Becky Trotter was abducted… Dallas for a seminar when Lindsey Plano was killed. A couple of thousand law enforcement personnel including the Undersheriff here can confirm that. Is that good enough, Jack, or do I need to sit around with my thumb up my ass while they check me out?"

"We can make it quick but let's err on the side of caution and document it. Curtis can take a statement for the record… Conrad can give one to verify your travel," Morales proposed. "We need to cover the bases since you have a relationship with her. This bastard has been killing for almost thirty years, so let's not open the door for a defense lawyer to create doubt with the investigation's objectivity."

"Yeah… and the other jurisdictions are ready to pounce once we have anything," Jim agreed. "Last thing we need is for them to point a finger at me… or anyone else on our team over this."

"Frankly, since most of you knew her before today, it probably wouldn't be a bad idea to run DNA exclusions on all the men," he added. "It's a pain in the ass I know, but I'd rather we document the tests the same day we fully connected Ms. Edgers to the investigation rather than later… removes all trace of bias and keeps the investigation clear of charges we treated our own people differently than the other men she knows. It won't take long, so if you can go…"

"I agree," Ecklie interjected, "but let's make this easy on all of us. I didn't previously know Ms. Edgers, so I'm clear. Gil, have someone bring over swabs and I'll collect them right now. Thomas from Days can run them immediately… put this behind us."

Seeing the other men nod, Ecklie concluded, "Is there anyone else not here that knows Casey, Jim? We might as well do them all now and be done with it."

A wicked gleam flashed briefly in Brass's blue eyes. "Besides several uniforms, the Sheriff's met her on a number of occasions, Conrad. You probably need to get a swab from him too."

"And Archie Johnson," Greg added, swallowing a snicker at the look on the Undersheriff's face. "He's mentioned meeting her… at length."

Brass's gaze locked on the youngest CSI. "What does that mean?"

"She's a ba… really hot… I mean…" Greg stuttered, unable to complete his observations in the face of the lethal glare the senior detective was leveling in his direction. "I'm just saying…"

Blowing out a frustrated breath, Brass let him off the hook. "I have noticed. If you want to stay on Casey's good side, I suggest you keep the drooling to a minimum."

Ignoring the blush staining Greg's face, Gil repeated Catherine's earlier question. "So… has it occurred to Casey she's our link? She's in danger and we can't run the risk of her being grabbed… or of the killer seeing her with another potential victim. If he realizes we're putting the pieces of the puzzle together… that she's working with us, whatever timeline he's on goes out the window and he may go after her immediately… that or he'll pull up stakes and takes his show on the road."

"I don't think it's fully registered for her yet," Jim admitted. "The fact he's been stalking her… that he may have grabbed other women he saw with her… that's probably about as far as she's let herself consider."

Holding his gaze, Gil urged, "She needs to know."

"Yeah," he agreed. "I'll talk to her."

"And if she insists on leaving?" Ecklie prodded.

"She won't… not once she realizes she could unknowingly endanger another woman," Brass proclaimed. "It's not in her nature to do something that might hurt someone else. She'll agree to stay somewhere safe until we find this bastard."

"That raises the question… where is safe?" Grissom mused. "If we don't find this bastard before he moves on… she'll be looking over her shoulder for the rest of her life. If she's become his latest obsession, I somehow doubt he'll forget about her forever."

"Yeah," Jim muttered, "Claudia Fontenelle proves that."

-----

"Well… that puts a lot of this into perspective," Gil noted, stepping back from the board where he had charted out the connections between Casey Edgers and their known victims. "Most of this is… tangential at best, but the connections are there. We need to get security tapes from these places… see if he's still frequenting any of them."

Studying the board, Jim silently traced the paths. "You have Karen Lieu up here."

"Yeah, Casey said she sometimes shops at the _Lemongrass Market_ over at the Chinatown Plaza," Nick confirmed. "The Lieu Family owns the store. The link adds support to our belief Karen was lucky to escape that night."

"Right." Sighing, Jim summarized, "So, you have… what… five names you haven't been able to connect… tangentially at least."

"Just the remaining Jane Does," Gil qualified. "Until we know who they are…"

"Got it."

Watching the detective closely, the CSI asked, "What have I missed?"

"You have Libby Stevens linked through the dry cleaners, but… she stopped at a _Medicine Cabinet_ to pickup… pantyhose or something," Jim noted. "Cecelia disappeared from one of their store parking lots… same one Casey uses. I think that's the connection."

Frowning, Nick reached over to grab a report from the stack on the table behind him. "Now that I think about it… that chain's name appeared on several of the reports from other jurisdictions. Maybe he has a grudge against the _Medicine Cabinet_ chain."

"OK… or maybe it was where he made his first grab and it makes him all warm and nostalgic to grab new victims from one of their stores," Jim mused. "Let's make the leap of logic and add Medicine Cabinets as possible sites for grabs… see if there is something about them that makes them an easy place to grab women."

"OK, we'll see what we can come up with," Gil agreed. "Where do we go from here?"

"We need to go back into the Arts District… blanket the area looking for anyone that might be our guy," Jim mused. "Opal, Lindsey, and Robin… Casey are all associated to the arts… the supply store, the Friday night street parties… some of the galleries. I'm going to have Sam blanket the area with a canvassing team and see what pops."

"Makes sense."

Sighing, Jim added, "We need hit the gym angle from a different perspective. We've been looking at gyms associated with boxing, but maybe he's trolling for victims in at regular fitness facilities. Casey gave us two places to start… _The Works _and _Reps_. The man she saw in the store near my house… she said he looked like he worked out a lot… maybe works at a gym. Maybe he does."

"The man she mentioned at the first place is a doctor… could be true… could be a pickup line," Nick noted. "We need to talk to him in either case."

"Yeah… I'll have Joe go by once he gets finished at Auto Detail… run down the gym angle… maybe bring Keller in for a sit-down," Jim agreed. "And Sofia needs to go back to talk to the pros working the _Neon Moon_ stroll. That's what… six or seven blocks north of _Celebration Centre_."

"About that… block or so either way," Grissom nodded. "And _Celebration Centre_…"

"… is the reason Casey moved to Vegas," Jim concluded. "I need to make a follow-up visit to Tony Osteen. Justine Olivetti was one of Keyser's first victims in the area. I want to see what following her trail gives us."

"Well, we have been saying Keyser might be a construction worker or a sub," Nick inserted. "With the economy in the tank… _Celebration Centre_ is one of the few large projects still going anywhere in the Valley."

"Yeah, that thought has occurred to me too."

-----

Tony Osteen rose from behind his desk to greet the policeman, his unease clear. "Captain Brass… do you have any new information on Tina's murder? It makes me sick to think about what happened to her. She was a wonderful woman."

"None of the woman deserved what happened to them," Brass observed, "but we may have a lead… one you might be able to help us follow."

The younger man's brown eyes widened in surprise. "How could… If I can help, tell me. I'll do anything I can."

"We've recently identified one of the victims found in Lincoln County as Justine Olivetti," Jim began, extending the mug shot of their victim for his inspection. "Casey Edgers told me a woman by that name threw a beer bottle at her last year as the _Celebration Centre_ project was breaking ground. She's under the impression the police were called, but I can't find any record of a report being filed."

"Yeah… I remember the incident," Osteen recalled, studying the picture. "That's her… but I was more concerned with getting Casey to a doctor than filing a police report. She had a head wound and it was bleeding heavily. I left the woman in the hands of our security guards and told them to call it in. She was killed by the Strangler?"

"Solid forensic evidence says she was," Jim acknowledged. "Did they report the incident?"

Frowning, Osteen hedged, "I was gone for several hours… the ER was overrun and we had to wait. I remember because I was late to my daughter's school play and my wife was mad as hell. Allie thought Casey might be the one I was…"

"Yeah… I get it," the detective bit out, not liking the inference even if it wasn't valid. "Do you remember the date? Might help me track the report."

"No… but it shouldn't be too hard to find out. There was an insurance claim filed for Casey's hospital visit," Osteen responded, fighting back a grin at the older man's protective attitude toward the beautiful architect. It had been a shock the first time he had seen Brass with Casey at a reception… as much because it reminded him of the death of his mistress as at the seemingly unlikely pairing. "Give me a minute and…"

Holding up his hand to interrupt, Brass asked, "Do you know if assault charges were filed with the police?"

A slightly bitter frown ghosted across Osteen's face as he reluctantly explained, "No… my boss intervened. Daniels was afraid the woman might generate some sympathy in the media… displaced working woman defending her turf, yadda yadda. I thought that was bullshit, that we had an obligation to make sure the site was safe for our employees and the public. The higher-ups disagreed, so she was given some money and told to disappear. It was all over and done with before I'd left the hospital that evening."

"Daniels?"

"Jonathan Daniels," Osteen offered. "He's a senior VP with Greenley."

"Do you know how much they gave her to disappear?" Brass pressed, jotting down the name in his notes.

Shaking his head, the younger man admitted, "I wasn't told… probably a grand or so."

"OK. Do you remember seeing her around after that day?"

Osteen shook his head. "Now that I think about it… I don't remembering hearing anything further about her after that… and, to be honest… that's kind of surprising."

"Why do you say that?"

Shrugging his shoulders, Tony offered, "She'd been a problem from day one… high most of the time. Wild and belligerent is the best description I can give of her."

"So, the incident with Casey wasn't a first for her?"

"No… she had several scuffles with the guards," Osteen recalled. "There were quite a few prostitutes and street people that didn't want to stay out once we buttoned up the site. I was worried someone would get hurt… my worst nightmare was knocking down a building only to find a homeless person has slipped past the guards and gotten back inside… and damned if that didn't almost happen."

Curious, Jim asked, "Oh, yeah… how'd he get in?"

"I wish I knew," Osteen admitted, "… and it was a woman… hiding from an abusive husband or boyfriend in the basement of one of the buildings. A couple of the women on the crew finally managed to get her to come out… took her to an abused women's shelter. In fact…"

Hearing a change in the other man's voice, Brass prompted, "In fact what?"

A sad look darkened his features as Tony added, "Tina was here that day. There's a shelter where she volunteered a few blocks over. She went with them to help get the woman settled. Tina took a real interest in trying to help her get back on her feet. It broke her heart when the woman disappeared several weeks later."

"Disappeared?"

"Probably went back to the bastard," Osteen replied with a resigned sigh. "Tina hired a detective… thought the husband had tracked her down… forced her to go home with him or… finished what he started. The woman was in a bad way when we found her… bastard had obviously tried to kill her. Tina spent weeks looking for her… never found anything. I know that bothered her. She mentioned it not long before she died."

"And Tina took her to the shelter? Do you remember the name?" Jim asked.

"The woman's?"

Shaking his head, Jim clarified, "Well that would be great, but… I meant the shelter. I assumed if you had a name, Tina would have used it to find her."

"Oh, right. Well… the shelter is run by _CASA_… _Citizens Against Spouse Abuse_," Tony recited. "I still give donations in Tina's memory. She helped get it started after a friend of hers from high school was killed by an abusive boyfriend… it was her cause. She was really passionate about it."

Recognizing the name of the shelter where Casey volunteered, Jim added a note to his pad. "If you could get me the date on the incident with Justine Olivetti and the amount she was given, I'll let you get back to work."

Frowning, Osteen demanded, "Why is the amount important? And, why the interest in the woman we found?"

"I have to follow up on the possibility a sudden windfall took Justine out of her normal routine… put her in a part of town she didn't normally frequent or maybe it drew the attention of the killer," Brass supplied.

Pausing, he added, "As for the missing woman… Tina was right. Abusers that find their missing spouses have a nasty habit of finishing what they started. I don't like that, so I'd like to know what happened to her too."

-----

The secretary that brought the insurance information paused briefly before handing him the printout of the report. "Pardon me, but… aren't you Capt. Brass… the lead detective on the Strangler investigation?"

Sighing… this was becoming a regular event whenever he went out, he nodded. "Yeah. We're doing everything we can to find him before he can kill again."

"I'm sure you are. I can tell that from listening to you talk about the investigation." Hesitating, the woman admitted, "I've started to call the tip line a couple of times, but… you probably already know this."

Reacting to the prospect of a new lead, Jim prompted, "Know what… Ms…?"

"Oh," she exclaimed as she extended her hand. "I'm Bonnie Garner, Mr. Osteen's administrative assistant."

"Jim Brass," he responded, shaking her hand. "So… what can you tell me?"

"Well… a couple of the unidentified women look… familiar. One looks like the woman that hurt Casey," she admitted, "so I guess that's why you wanted this report."

"OK. Was there another one?" Brass prompted, certain he was on to something. She had recognized Justine from the rendering. That suggested she was observant and might have more to offer.

"The drawing of the woman you call Jane Doe 2… I think she lived around here too," Bonnie admitted. "She looks like a woman that used to sing on the street corner for change… homeless, I think."

"Do you know her name?" Jim pressed. "This is the first possible report we've received on her, so anything could be helpful."

"Oh dear," she murmured, her distress obvious. "I knew I should have called earlier, but my husband didn't want me to get involved. He's worried it might attract the killer's attention to us."

"Don't worry about that," Jim soothed. "We'll keep your name out of the reports. Do you remember her name?"

"No… I doubt I ever heard it," she admitted, "but Genny could probably tell you."

"Genny?"

"Geneva Watson," she supplied. "Genny is the executive director of _Celebrate Now_… the charitable organization Mr. Harbin started to assist people dislocated by the project. It's possible that woman went there for assistance. If not, Genny'll know someone that can help you."

Hearing the phone at her desk ring, the woman excused herself as Brass reached for his cell phone. "Sofia… where are you? I may have a lead on Jane Doe #2. If you're in the area…"

-----

Joe Vartann paused briefly in the doorway of the up-scale gym called _The Works_ before walking over to the reception desk. The young woman behind the counter was pretty in the way of so many women that lived in the Vegas area… carefully applied made-up more in keeping with a nightclub than a gym, a pair of size DD breast implants that arrived in the room a full minute before their owner, a tan that was a little too tanned to be natural, and an artful flow of moussed hair whose color owned more to Miss Clairol than Mother Nature. The predatory gleam in her green eyes made him want to cover his genitals with one hand and his wallet with the other.

Ignoring her offer to let him practice with his handcuffs anytime he wanted, Vartann turned to study the dozen or so people using the equipment in the adjacent weight room while she went to find the gym's owner. The mix of patrons was typical of gyms across the city, especially in the early afternoon. Most were mothers enjoying a brief respite before picking their children up from school. A few were older men, probably retired and working out to keep their pouches under control. The rest were a mixed bag of Vegas.

Movement to his right made him turn in time to see a man tossing a towel into a bin before heading quickly down a back corridor toward what Joe assumed was the locker room. Something about the man seemed familiar, but he couldn't immediately place why. Before he could make the connection, the gym's owner stepped into the hallway.

"Yes…. what can I do for you?"

Turning, Joe found he had been joined by the receptionist's male counterpart, although it was obvious the man had been playing the game a lot longer than she had. The plugs Shea Julian had dropped a mint to add to the growing bald spot in the center of his head looked fresh. The stiff set of his features hinted that he had also gone the route of Botox and other cosmetic enhancements to keep his 'edge'.

"I'm Det. Vartann, LVPD," he offered, tapping his badge. "I need some information about one of your clients."

"I'm sorry, Det.," Julian began. "Our customers expect their privacy..."

"Save it," Joe interjected. "Gym records aren't protected or privileged. If you want to make this hard on me, I'll have a warrant here in under an hour… but you don't really want me to have to bring along several officers to help me conduct a search do you? It could take hours… you and all your customers would have to wait outside…"

"What is it you want?" Julian demanded, his irritated glare loosing some of its impact on the too stiff face.

Holding his gaze, Joe insisted, "What can you tell me about Dr. Tom Keller?"

"Keller? Damn! What's that bastard done now?" the gym owner bit out.

"OK… I take it you've had complaints about the doctor before?" the detective pressed.

"What doctor? He's a maintenance man at Desert Palms," Julian scoffed. "He thinks he's fooling people with that crap… but the man's an idiot. Passing gas mentally challenges him… no chance he could make it through med school."

Frowning, Vartann demanded, "Then, why would you allow him to chase off your customers by hassling women trying to work out here?"

"Because he's mean as hell," the gym owner admitted. "When he first started coming here, I tried to kick him out after I got complaints."

"OK… so, why…?"

"Why do you think? In my line of work, it doesn't look good to have a bloody lip and bruises on a regular basis… who's going to trust me to work them out if I can't defend myself?" the older man exclaimed. "Let's just say we reached a mutually acceptable arrangement… he backs off if I give him a signal and I get to keep my face intact."

"How long has he been coming here?"

"Two… three years," Julian estimated. "He showed up one day and… I'd pay good money to get him to move back wherever he came from."

"He moved to Vegas three years ago? Do you know from where?" Vartann pressed, struggling to contain his heightened interest.

"Back east somewhere… or maybe from somewhere in the south," Julian offered. "How the hell should I know? It's not like he's a buddy."

"When does he usually come to the gym?"

"He was just here," the gym owner replied. "Bastard nearly ran me over… went out the back door. He knows that's not allowed, but… hey, where are you going?"

-----

"Detective Curtis?"

Sofia turned from her study of a painting hanging in the cramped waiting room of the _Celebrate Now _Foundation. A tiny woman of indeterminate age was watching her from the doorway of the suite's lone office. "Ms. Watson?"

Smiling, Geneva Watson nodded. "Yes. How can I be of assistance, Detective?"

"I'm trying to identify someone and your name was given to me as someone that might be able to help," she replied.

A salt-n-pepper eyebrow rose slightly as she prompted, "If I can, of course I will."

Watching closely to gauge her response, Sofia began, "Did you see the Sunday paper… the article on the women that have been killed over the past two years?"

The sunny smile on the older woman's face disappeared. "No, but who hasn't heard about that horrible business. Horrible, just horrible! You think I might know something about what happened to those poor girls?"

Sighing, Sofia offered, "It's possible you might have met one of the victims through your work here… one we're still trying to identify."

Surprised, Genny demanded, "Why would you think that?"

Smiling to put her at ease, Sofia explained, "Bonnie Garner saw the pictures in the paper and thought one of the unidentified victims might have been a client here. Would you be willing to look at an artist's rendering and see if you can help us?"

"Bonnie? Bonnie thought one of those poor girls might have been one of our clients?"

"I'm afraid so," the detective confirmed. "Would you…"

"Of course," Genny interjected, pulling a pair of glasses off the top of her head. "Give me the picture and I'll see what I can remember."

She studied the rendering for a full minute before admitting, "I see why Bonnie sent you to see me. This child does look familiar, but… I just can't recall a name. Can I keep this and show it around to some of our folks? If she lived around here, someone is bound to know her."

"Thank you. We'd appreciate your help." On a hunch, Sofia pulled out the pictures of several of the other victims. "Any chance you can might know any of these woman?"

After looking at the pictures of their remaining Jane Does, Geneva shook her head. "No… these girls don't look at all familiar. I'm sorry."

Handing her the mug shot of the Justine Olivetti, Sofia asked, "And this woman?"

A soft gasp left the older woman's lips. "Dear lord!! That's Justine… Justine Olivetti."

"How do you know her?"

Shaking her head faintly as if to deny the possibility, Geneva recalled, "Justine was in my fifth grade English class. Smart little thing… till she got messed up with the wrong sort. Broke her mother's heart when she started using drugs. Her family tried to help her, but… you can't help someone that isn't making any effort to help herself."

Hesitating for a few seconds, Sofia asked, "It's possible she might have been… working one of the corners near the _Celebration Centre_ project."

"No need to dance around the truth, Detective," she sighed. "Justine was a prostitute… sold her body to buy that poison. Her sister's raising her baby… poor little thing was born addicted to crack… never will be right, but Camille does her best. Hold on… I'll get you her address."

-----

"How can I be of help, Capt. Brass?"

Studying the man behind the massive mahogany desk for clues of his character, Jim replied, "I'm investigating the murder of several women, a couple of which I'm still trying to identify."

Pale blue eyes widened marginally as Jonathan Daniels asked, "And you think I would know something about a murder?"

"Not the murder itself," Brass clarified, "but, it's possible you can help me find out what might have happened to one of these women."

"I seriously doubt…"

Ignoring the interruption, Jim continued. "Last year, there was an incident at the _Celebration Centre_ construction site involving a local woman… a prostitute that threw a beer both at Casey Edgers. It's possible that woman is one of the victims."

"I… I'm afraid you've been misinformed, Capt," the older man began. "I'm not aware of any…"

"This is a murder investigation," Brass interjected. "Don't waste your time trying to play me. I have a statement from Casey Edgers and a copy of the insurance report filed to cover her treatment at the ER. I already know you paid off Justine Olivetti to disappear after that incident. All I want to know from you is where your security guards dropped her off and how much you gave her to stay out of your way."

Brisling with indignation, Daniels insisted, "I don't have any idea what you're talking about and I resent the implication…"

"Like I said, I'm investigating the murder of seventeen women in the Vegas area alone," Brass bit out. "I trying to find their killer before there's an eighteenth. Every minute we're delayed gives him time to grab another victim or cover his tracks. You can either talk to me here in the comfort of your office or we can continue this down at my office. Which is it?"

"I'm a friend of Sheriff Burdick and…"

"Fine," Brass interjected, "we can move this conversation to his office. Finding this killer is his top priority. I'm sure he'll want to know you're being less than cooperative."

An icy glare accompanied, "I gave her $2500 and told her she'd be arrested if she made the mistake of showing back up at the site. My men gave her a ride… to her sister's home I believe. I don't have the address. I doubt the guards remember it after this long."

"I'll need their names…"

-----

"Do you think you could get the auction site to guarantee me a win every time?" Catherine purred. "That was sweet!"

Pausing in the doorway of Bill Grigg's office, Jim prompted, "What did you get?"

"We decided to 'win' the entire lot," she replied, swiveling her chair to face him. "Since we think its all stolen goods, we need to recover them anyway. Instead of faking one buy, we faked eleven."

Frowning, Jim asked, "Aren't you afraid that might tip him off?"

"Considering the way he packaged the auction," she countered, "I'm willing to bet he was hoping someone would try to do exactly that… buy the perfect outfit all in one go. We made it look legit… paid more than he probably expected on some of it… close wins on most of it. We even used a couple of Bill's phony accounts to fake a bidding war. I think we pulled it off… six winning bidders."

"This also means he's only expecting six payments which might motivate him to go pick up his money sooner rather than later," Bill added. "If we had faked eleven winners… it would take too long for the checks to arrive. He only accepts certified checks or money orders… no electronic payments."

"Got it. How long do you think it will be before we hear from him?" Jim asked.

Shrugging his shoulders, Griggs offered, "Hard to say. According to the auction sites, he has his sales programmed to generate automatic invoices once the sale is made. Unless he gets asked a question… which he won't in this case, he doesn't really need to access the site using the seller ID. He could view it using any number of fake accounts we haven't linked to him if all he wants to do is see how the sales did."

"So… do we want to ask a question and see if he bites?" Jim proposed.

Sighing, Griggs traded a look with Catherine. "We discussed that option, but… there are too many variables to anticipate. We don't know where or when he might go online to respond. There are just too many places where he could access the net… libraries, internet cafes… hotels and convention centers. Hell, there are hot spots throughout the City to serve the tourists so he could logon hundreds of places without ever stepping foot inside a building."

"The wireless revolution," Brass muttered, "wasn't supposed to have real people dying."

"Yeah, even Bill draws the line at actual bodies," the Cyber-cop agreed. "It could be hours or days before he responds to a message. We simply have no way of positioning our people to cover such a huge area… and we could inadvertently tip him off we're on to him if we stumble in the process. Catherine and I decided it was best to focus our efforts on covering the mail-drop. We'll have that location once we get the invoices."

"Given how cautious Keyser is, I doubt he'll risk multiple trips to pickup checks. He'll wait long enough for them to all arrive before he makes a pickup," Jim speculated. "Where did you decide to have Catherine living?"

"We spread it around… all west of the Mississippi," Catherine inserted. "He should be anticipating receiving his checks within a week tops. We faked a bidding war over the necklace so we could drive up the price and sweeten the pot. He's got a tidy haul for this lot… on paper anyway."

Nodding, Jim asked, "And, you'll repeat the process for the other auctions later this week?"

"That's the plan," she agreed. "We're not expecting him to use the same mail-drop for the others… he's changed the address each time he's sent invoices for prior auctions."

"So… the bottom line is," Brass concluded, "he could be out there for another week… maybe ten days… assuming we don't catch a break and grab him sooner."

-----

Jim paused in the doorway to study the lines marking the sleeping woman's features. Casey had fallen into an uneasy slumber, curled into the corner of the sofa in his office. She had agreed to wait there while he ran down leads generated by the information she had provided. Until they knew more, he wasn't willing to risk taking her out of the station.

Wishing he could let her sleep a little longer, Jim walked over to sit by her side. Resting a gentle hand on her shoulder, he whispered, "Casey… honey."

Dull blue eyes slowly opened to meet his. "Jim… where?"

Smiling in hopes of putting her at ease, he offered, "You're in my office. You must have fallen asleep while you waited for me to get back. You're still not at 100% from that sinus infection I guess. I'm sorry this is taking so long, but… you may be here a while."

Twisting around, Casey wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face against his chest. "This all seems so unreal… like a nightmare."

Pulling her tightly against him he whispered in her ear, "It feels like that to me too, baby, but, you're safe here and I intend to see you stay that way."

Jim felt her control snap. The weight of her emotions had overwhelmed her defenses and she was helpless to contain them. Tucking her as close as he could, he settled back to allow her time to deal with the sudden crushing guilt… time to sort through the tangle of feelings assaulting her heart and mind… time to grieve. Someone, probably his secretary Connie, turned off the overhead light, allowing them to disappear into the concealing shadows of his office… at least for the moment.

-----


	22. Chapter 22 What… Why… How?

Title: By Design, Chapter 22

Author: Sorsha_711  
Fandom/Pairing: CSI; Brass/OCF  
Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations  
Disclaimer: A quick check of my bank account should prove I'm not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh! Anything you recognize belongs to the good people that bring us CSI.  
Summary: A serial killer is stalking the streets of Vegas… hell of a time for Brass to meet the woman of his dreams.

By Design, Chapter 22 --- What… Why… How?

-----

"Detective Curtis?"

"Yes," Sofia responded, trying to keep the bite out of her voice. She was exhausted and needed a few hours of sleep… something that would have to wait a little longer. She still had a long list of leads to follow. None of the detectives working the Strangler case had gotten any sleep since the break in the case the day before. They were all laboring with the bitter knowledge it was only a matter of time before the killer grabbed another woman or slipped out of town in search of new killing grounds… but tired was still tired. "How can I help you?"

"This is Genny Watson… from _Celebrate Now_. I've been showing the pictures you left with me to others in our organization… and I think I have a name for one of those poor girls… the one Bonnie Garner thought looked familiar."

"OK, great… we really appreciate your help," she replied, leaning forward to grab a pad. "You say you have a name?"

"Yes," came the soft reply, "Beverly Hopkins."

"Beverly Hopkins," Sofia repeated, a surge of adrenalin temporarily quelling her exhaustion. "Got it. What can you tell me…?"

-----

"Here's the incident report on that b&e you wanted, Captain," Connie announced, as she handed Jim a file. "That's Casey's address isn't it?"

Sighing, he paused by her desk to accept the file extended in his direction. "Yeah. It's probably nothing… there were other break-ins in her neighborhood about the same time."

Tapping the front of the folder, his assistant offered, "That's not what the investigating officer thought. Apparently, the description her neighbor gave wasn't close to the kid they arrested. Nothing was taken… and there was a boot impression on the mat by the door **in** the kitchen. Her cleaning service had been in the day before, so… Officer Robards thought someone got inside the house."

"Damn!" Jim muttered, not surprised to discover she had read the contents on the way back from the records storage. "I was hoping…"

-----

"Tom Keller called in sick today, detective."

Looking up to meet the curious gaze of the woman behind the window at the personnel office of Desert Palms Hospital, Joe Vartann asked, "What hours does he normally work?''

"He works nights… 11 to 7," she replied. "According to his file… this is one of the few days he's missed since he came to work for us three years ago. Well, other than the time he was out on a worker's comp injury."

"An injury?"

The woman's face tensed as she looked nervously around to see if anyone else had heard her comment. "I shouldn't have said…"

"OK, I get it. Can you tell me where he worked before starting here?" Joe requested, frustrated by his inability to find the man. He was still furious with himself for letting the suspect slip out from under his very nose at the gym.

"I can't discuss the specific content of an employee's personnel file… not without a warrant of course. I've already said more than I really should have," she responded, giving him an embarrassed smile. "I'd like to help…"

"I understand," Joe inserted, reading the silent urging he do just that in her expression. "Can I get his address?"

"I guess that should be ok," she agreed, looking around to be sure no one was listening. "He… he isn't the type that likes being talked about… especially to the police."

Vartann felt his eyebrow climb at this tidbit. "Does he have a reason to want to stay under the radar?"

Leaning forward, the woman whispered, "He's a bully. A lot of people around here don't like him… but they don't want to piss him off, so they… look the other way and ignore it."

"Has the hospital gotten complaints about him from other employees?"

"I can't really say more, detective, but… I didn't have to look his name up to know who you were asking about," she emphasized, handing him a post-it bearing the requested address. "The hospital has over 1000 employees if that tells you anything."

-----

"In a ten block radius of the coffee shop, two possibles got off a bus within our timeframe… well, there are others, but they aren't close to matching the physical description we have on Keyser," Gil reported. "They're low priority for now."

"OK," Brass responded, walking over to join the CSI at the layout table. "What do we have so far on these two?"

"We've backtracked one of them from a stop eight blocks west of the coffee shop to a stop on Dean Martin near the Rio," Gil reported. "He used a pass, so we're backtracking his movements for the last month. I'll have a photo and a list of his most frequent stops within the hour so you can get a canvas going."

"Great," the detective replied. "And #2?"

"He paid in cash… caught the bus near a shopping center four miles north of the coffee shop and got off three blocks south of the center," Gil continued. "It may be a coincidence, but a _Medicine Cabinet_ is the primary anchor of the other shopping complex."

"Coincidence my ass," Brass bit out. "Do we have a picture of this guy?"

"Yeah… but its not going to help much," the CSI replied. "He's wearing a hoodie… no clear shot of his face and neck… looks like he had a ball cap stuffed in the back pocket of his jeans. He fits the physical description… made a point of not looking directly at any of the cameras… like he knew where they were and was consciously avoiding them… exactly like the man we tracked on the bus last week."

Studying the picture, Brass agreed. "We may not have a clear shot of his face, but this picture does tell us two things. He's wearing sunglasses… and he's wearing a watch on his right wrist like most lefties do."

"Yeah, we noticed the glasses," Gil noted. "Thick prescription lenses are hard to tint, so that suggests the other ones are just thick glass… props. Nice catch on the watch."

"Hey… like I keep telling you techies, I'm not just another pretty face," Brass retorted. "My money's on #2."

"We agree."

Nodding, Brass asked, "OK. Where do we go from here?"

"We'll continue to track both back as far as we can," Grissom proposed. "We're already starting to go through the tape for the stops where these men caught the bus. If either of them show up again later in the day… preferably within hours, odds are he's our man returning from stealing the SUV. We'll keep the physical description broad just in case he made another costume change."

Nodding, Jim offered, "Give me those addresses and I'll get a canvas of both areas underway… see if anyone remembers seeing them… or a van."

Hesitating briefly, he added, "And, I need you to take a look at something for me. I may need to borrow Sanders for a few hours if…"

-----

"A missing person's report was filed… December 12, 2007," Sofia reported. "Grissom said the condition of the body was so degraded by the time it was found, DNA's only a partial match to the hair on the brush her parents gave me."

Pausing in the doorway of his office, Brass asked, "Do we have dental records?"

"Yeah," Sofia confirmed, "but Doc Robbins was only able to establish a 60% match… her jaw was broken on the right side of her face, so it was impossible for him to say more."

Continuing before he could speak, she added, "Her parents live on Lake Meade. They ID'ed the autopsy photos based on a distinctive scar on her back… result of a childhood injury. Teri Miller's rendering is a pretty good likeness for the picture they brought with them. Take it all together… I'm comfortable we have an ID."

"What do we know about her?" Brass asked, accepting the file on Beverly Hopkins as he flipped on the overhead light. He had just returned from several hours in the field and loudly groaned at the stack of pink message slips piled in the middle of his desk. He and Greg Sanders had spent several hours following his hunch and he was still reeling from their discovery.

Glancing up from her notes to study the pale features of her companion, Sofia summarized, "Beverly was 25 when she disappeared… had a history of mental illness… schizophrenic. She was in and out of various facilities since her teens. When she took her medication, she was lucid, but in a constant fog. Ultimately, she couldn't hold down a job in either state… preferred living on her terms to 'existing in the velvet-lined cage' her parents provided. Sad really. It's pretty obvious they tried everything they could to help her."

"From what I've been told, that happens a lot more than we realize," Brass offered, as he studied the picture of the smiling young woman on the top of the file. "Hospitals have to 'treat'em and street'em'… the patient has a choice of homeless and delusional or safe but miserable. Keeping a schizophrenic on their meds… it's a constant battle."

The young woman in the picture clearly resembled the woman he had come to know as Jane Doe #2. There had been more than a few days the impersonal moniker had been easier to say than one of the names of known victims. Jane Doe #2 wasn't someone's daughter; she didn't have a sweet smile and pretty blue eyes. Then he reminded himself… if it was his kid, he'd want to know… that not knowing had to be hell in its truest form. /Damn it, Ellie! Why won't you let me help…/

"That's pretty much what her parents told me. Beverly had a history of taking off the second they turned their backs," she continued, worried by the defeated expression on his face. "She disappeared the last time just after Thanksgiving 2007 and they assume stopped taking her meds… returned to living on the streets. They tried to find her… found several people that had seen her immediately after she left, but nothing since mid-December of that year. Beverly's parents hired a detective to look for her. I have a call in to him to see what else he can tell us."

Dropping wearily into his desk chair, Jim set the file to one side as he began to sort through his messages. "Where was she last seen?"

"In the area north of the _Celebration_ site," Sofia responded. "She had a boyfriend that lived in the area… also with a history of mental illness. I tracked him down, but he wasn't lucid enough to remember that far back… insisted she was out looking for his cat. Kept saying she'd be back in a few minutes. I tried to explain but… maybe its for the best he doesn't' realize what happened to her… delusions sure as hell beat reality in this case."

Nodding distractedly, Brass agreed. "Yeah, maybe. What else?"

"Well… apparently Beverly thought she was the reincarnation of Janice Joplin… loved to sing… dressed like her," Sofia supplied. "She was harmless… apparently very sweet and loving. That's probably why Bonnie Garner remembered her. She would walk up to strangers and start belting out a song. I'm as sure as we can be she's Jane 2."

"Beverly Hopkins it is then," Brass agreed. "Let Lincoln County know. Sheriff Adair's detailed additional personnel to the task force, so grab a couple of them and get them started on trying to retrace her last known steps… maybe figure out where she was grabbed."

Pausing to study one of the slips, Jim added, "And… while you're at it… Tony Osteen mentioned a woman they found hiding in one of the buildings before it was demo'ed… battered and running from an abusive husband. Tina Ortiz took her to the _CASA _shelter where she went missing a few weeks later."

"OK… so?'

"We have at least four more Jane Does to ID… so, maybe she's one of them," Brass suggested, passing her the message slip. "We have a connection to both Tina and the area. Osteen called in the name of the detective Tina hired to look for her and a contact at the shelter. Talk to them tomorrow… see if there's even a remote chance she might be one of ours."

Glancing down at the name on the slip of paper Brass had given him, Sofia nodded. "_CASA_… isn't that the shelter where Casey said she volunteers?"

"Yeah."

Silently noting the strain evident in his clipped response, she asked, "Do we have dates…"

-----

"Over thirty cases including ours have some kind of connection to the _Medicine Cabinet_," Nick reported. "I ran the store name against all known Strangler murders… most were customers grabbed in their parking lots… but a few were store employees."

"Walk us through what you've uncovered," Grissom instructed as Catherine dropped limply into the second guest chair at his desk. "This could be significant."

Gil's gaze lingered on her for a few seconds until she gave him a discrete nod to confirm she was ready to get back to work. She had just returned from putting her daughter and mother on a plane headed to Charlotte, North Carolina. She had insisted they stay with relatives as far from Vegas as they could get until the Strangler was caught, a move being duplicated by other members of the task force.

Brass's tangible worry over Casey's safety had left them all feeling vulnerable about the possible risks to their loved ones. By the end of the day, the families of several cops, CSI's, lab techs, and DA's would be hundreds of miles apart… hopefully safe and out of sight of a killer. Now, it was up to the LVPD to keep its own safe while they tracked a monster.

"Beginning in 1982, Cristy Villiere was last seen leaving her job at a _Medicine Cabinet_ in Pittsburg. PPD thinks she was the third victim of the Woodsman," the younger CSI continued, missing the byplay between his companions. "Since then… thirty-three other victims had some connection to the chain… twenty-four were customers, the rest were employees like Cristy. I'll keep looking, but… that's a significant number by any calculation."

"Yeah, it is," Catherine agreed. "What do we know about that first one… Cristy?"

"We have her file, but… off the top of my head, I can't really tell you more than her name and the date she went missing," he replied. "Do you want me to see what the FBI has on her?"

"Jim made a comment that's stuck in my head… something keeps him going back… a sick rush or a burning anger," she paraphrased. "Maybe it was Cristy… or maybe he has a grudge against the chain. It might be worth checking to see if PPD can look for any incidents in the weeks leading up to her disappearance. We need to put her file under the microscope and see what pops."

"I'll make the call, then start tearing her case file apart," he offered.

"And I'll brief Jim on the _Medicine Cabinet_ connection," Gil concluded. "We need to alert their regional manager… get them to beef up security around their stores until we know more… and PD needs to increase patrols in the vicinity their Vegas locations."

-----

"Nobody's answering the door at Keller's apartment," Vartann reported, shifting his cell phone to his other ear hoping to block out the sounds of heavy traffic on the nearby street. "I spoke to the building manager… place has been sublet so many times he has no clue who's living there. As long as the rent gets paid… cash only, nobody cares."

"Neighbors all say the same thing as the gym owner and the lady at the hospital," the detective replied in response to his superior's question. "He's a bully… pushes people around… hassles women with unwelcome attention, but nobody seems ready to risk setting him off by reporting him."

"Yeah… he was injured at work two years ago… burned by scalding water," Joe reported. "Keller denied it but a nurse's aide said he tried to force her into a closet… tried to put his hands under her shirt. She threw a basin of hot water on him when he and ran. We were never called, so no charges were filed."

"Can't. She took off before they could sort things out… went back to Tennessee according to one of the nurses she worked with. Keller didn't pursue it, so they wrote it off as an accident. Incident left him with burn scars over the upper right side of his body."

"Yeah… it does fit."

"That plays," Joe agreed. "Keller sees Casey at the hospital when she was visiting her friend… was still angry she said no. Makes for a pretty solid link."

"I have a copy of his work ID for Archie, but he doesn't have a driver's license… at least not in the name Tom or Thomas Keller at this address. There're seven others by that name in the area. Juarez is tracking them down, but I'm not holding my breath one of them is him," Vartann supplied.

"Naw, nobody remembers seeing him drive a van…" the younger man replied, "…or any other type of vehicle for that matter. This may be something… he rides the bus. I sent Palmer to interview the bus drivers… see if they can tell us where Keller gets on and off."

"Will do. I'll post a unit here while I keep digging… will let you know when I find him. Do you want me to email you a copy…"

-----

"Are you sure you're OK?"

"The doctor is satisfied the flight didn't cause any new complications… or setbacks?" Casey repeated, cradling her cell phone into the curve of her neck as she sorted through the clothes Jim had packed for her. "I've been so worried…"

Frowning at the selection of silky gowns and undergarments he had chosen, she offered, "Well, I'm breathing a little easier knowing you're home safe, Chlo."

"No," she sighed, relieved to find several of her favorite slouchies near the bottom of the suitcase. "Jim has me stashed in… a safe place while he runs down the new leads. You should see the stuff he packed for me! He can't actually think I'm going to parade around here in this stuff!!"

"Yeah… men." Stacking a pile of books on the floor beside the bed, she stepped back to consider the cramped surface. Her pillows and comfortable helped make it feel a little more homey, but it still didn't look all that inviting. "Really… I'm ok. My office on the other hand is freaking out…"

"Well, I had to tell them since my female employees have their own protective details… fortunately wearing plain clothes," Casey replied. "They're telling people the bronchitis turned into pneumonia to explain my absence for now. No point in alarming the clients if we can avoid it. The only glitch…"

"Yeah, glitch. Apparently that bastard Bob Lawrence called wanting to discuss a problem with the title on some of the _Celebration_ land and pitched a fit when they told him I wasn't available," she complained, dropping wearily onto the bunk. "He's called my cell eight times… told Brad I'm MIA and dissing him when I didn't pick up."

"Yeah, dissing. What are we thirteen??"

"You better believe he's called," she confirmed. "I felt I owed Brad the truth. He agreed not say anything for now… not that he'd want to cause any unwanted buzz around the project…"

-----

"The FBI found a birth certificate for a baby boy born in 1964 at a charity hospital in Pittsburg. Amanda Marie Steffee was the baby's mother and Patrick McMullen was listed as the father," Catherine reported, passing around copies of the report to the other members of the task force. "Amanda was killed three years later… don't have the details yet. The boy… Sean Owens Steffee, was raised by his maternal grandparents until he was 13. Their bodies were found inside the burned-out shell of their house in Culbertsville, Pa… both had been killed before the fire was set."

"Where exactly is Culbertsville?" Grissom prompted, cradling his chin in the palm of his hand as he began to read.

"In the Allegheny Valley, 100 miles north of Pittsburg," she supplied. "Small river town… everybody knows everybody kind of place. The grandfather… Harold Steffee, was the town barber… as well as, the town drunk. He had a history of domestic abuse and d&d's. Sean had a juvie record… Feds are working to get it unsealed."

"Did he kill his grandparents?" Sam Vega asked, leaning back in his chair as he struggled to focus on the report. His son had called shortly before the daily briefing to let him know his family had arrived safely at his in-laws' house in LA. A part of his mind was dwelling on the fact it had been Davy that had called, not his wife… the very real possibility she might not be planning to return once the danger was over.

"They couldn't make a case against anyone including Sean, but the general opinion around town was he shot his grandfather for killing his grandmother… then set the fire hoping to cover it all up. The bullet wound was on the right side of grandfather's skull… the fire toasted the remains so the coroner couldn't rule out the possibility the wound was self-inflicted," the CSI offered. "Lacking conclusive proof… charges were never filed."

"So, he may have a body count that goes back a lot further than we suspected," Jim noted.

"I'd say it's pretty likely," she agreed. "Anyway, Sean went into the system… ended up at a group home in Pittsburg where one of the leaders got him interested in boxing. Apparently, his grandmother had told him his father was a boxer… he became obsessed with finding him… that and becoming the next heavyweight champion."

"OK," Nick asked, "so, McMullen really didn't know about him?"

Shrugging her shoulders, Catherine admitted, "There's not a lot to indicate what, if anything, McMullen knew about Sean at that point. There aren't any records of child support. According to his daughter, her father never mentioned having a son. Her parents didn't get married until 1968, so he wasn't covering up an affair. My guess is he didn't know about him until later. When he did… he never told his daughter. That alone shouts volumes. I suspect McMullen didn't hand out any cigars once he met sonny boy."

"I'd like to know more about that," Brass sighed. "McMullen must have known something that made him unwilling to introduce Sean to his family."

"The FBI is still sorting through the records," she supplied, "…talking to anyone that knew him or his family. Maybe they'll be able to turn up more on their relationship. Until they do, it's all speculation."

"Yeah," Jim agreed. "Having a name to follow is the main thing we needed. The rest is just background at this point."

"The name won't help much," she sighed. "The FBI hasn't found any record of him using the name Sean Steffee, Sean Owens, or Sean McMullen since he left Pittsburg… no use of his social security number… no police records elsewhere in any of those names that they can tie to him. If he still uses them… he's not leaving a paper trail."

"Damn! We finally get a name and it turns into another dead-end!" Joe complained.

"About the size of it… the FBI is still following up on Sean, the early years. Based on interviews with people that remember him from Culbertsville, he was a troubled kid that would disappear into the woods to hike and camp whenever things got bad for him at home," she concluded. "A couple of the bodies of Woodsman's victims… including Cristy Villiere, were found in that general area. Add it up… looks like Sean is our guy."

"Explains why he was introducing himself around the gyms as Sean McMullen," O'Riley added. "Claiming reflected glory from his dad still means something to him even after he killed him."

"So it seems," Brass agreed. "What do we have on Sean after he entered foster care? There has to be something."

"Not a lot so far," Catherine admitted. "He turned pro when he turned 17… fought under the name Sean Owens… Owens was his grandmother's maiden name… had several promising bouts and was starting to generate some buzz. At that point, the record gets muddy."

"How so?" Gil asked.

"There were several police investigations where his name came up… couple of assaults… and at least one murder. It looks like he skipped town in 1984," she supplied. "That fits with what we know about the Woodsman's killing spree. Those killings occurred between 1982 and 1984… as far as we know. There may be other victims out there that nobody knows about."

"So… Sean would have been what… 17, 18 when the Woodsman began his killings… 20 when he pulled up stakes and went to…" Sam prompted. "The FBI thinks he went to Philly from there, right?"

"Yeah," Greg confirmed. "They've also found three murders in the Boston area that match Keyser's MO during a six month period before they think he moved to St. Louis. McMullen moved there from Boston a year after his first wife died of cancer in 1988. The Riverbanks Killer began his killings in September of 1989 around the time someone calling himself Rocky showed up in the St. Louis area. Rocky… a sort of a twisted homage to Daddy Dearest."

"Twisted is right. He then turns up in the New Orleans area in the early part of this decade after McMullen remarried and moved to Louisiana… probably killed his father's second wife and baby before killing him," Brass concluded. "That ties his movements to McMullen with the exceptions of his time in the Minneapolis area… and Baltimore."

"And… what brought him to Vegas?" Catherine pondered. "Since we know someone in the Vegas area has been accessing McMullen's accounts, we can safely assume it's Keyser… or Sean Steffee. Do we have more on those accounts?"

"Yeah," Nick replied, reaching for another report. "Deposits have been made to the checking account that match the monthly income McMullen received. Most of it was used to make payments on the house in Slidell… routine monthly bills. Taxes and insurance were all kept current. Whatever was leftover was transferred to another account… totals to just over $20,000."

Frowning, she demanded, "Another account? A saving account?"

Flipping through his notes, Nick offered, "Yeah, but not one in McMullen's name. That account is in the name… Henry Phelps Woods. It's at one of those internet banks… chartered out of the Caymens. They're blocking access, but the Feds are pressing hard now that they can prove McMullen was murdered. They haven't found out much so far."

"Hell, is this guy a real person or another alias of Keyser?" Sofia asked, adding the name to her list of possibles for Keyser. "Give us that name again, Nick… Wood or Woods"

"Woods… Henry Phelps Woods." A frown accompanied, "We don't have a lot so far. From what I've been able to run down, he's real… a semi-retired long-haul trucker, uses a PO Box in Pahrump. I gave Nye County a call and asked for their help in tracking him down. I'll let you know what they find. Until we get our hands on those Caymen's accounts, the rest is all speculation."

"Going back to Catherine's question, do we have any idea why Keyser choose Vegas as his next stop?" Gil asked, sipping his coffee.

"I have a theory," Greg admitted. "His dad's title bout was here. Maybe he came to Vegas wanting to make his own mark in a place where his dad failed… claim the Vegas spotlight."

"That makes a much sense as anything… and, sadly, he's done that," Brass mused. "Do we have fingerprints on Steffee… other evidence to compare to what we have on Keyser? Hell, a damned picture would be a start."

"The FBI and PPD are searching through every file they can dig up and promised to get us whatever they turn up A'sap. All of his crimes in Pittsburg predate AFIS, so a 10-card may be the best they find," Catherine responded, as she passed copies of a picture around the table. "This is a picture from his fighting days… standard Rocky wannabe pose. He was 18, so… who knows how much he might have changed over the years. If he had an accident that left him scarred, his face may have been altered too."

"Best we have for now," Gil replied, "but, let's have Teri Miller take a stab at aging the photo… see what that gives us."

"And… until then?" Sam pressed.

Rubbing a weary hand over his face, Brass ordered, "We proceed as we have been. Ray, add the names of Owens and Steffee… and Woods to your list of possible alias and see if they ring any bells around boxing circles. Take the picture… better than nothing."

Pausing to take a deep breath, Jim added, "Before we break, Sanders and I have…"

-----

Hesitating as the others left the briefing to return to their duties, Vega asked, "How's Casey holding up?"

"About like you'd expect," Brass offered, rubbing at his neck in a distracted manner.

"Have you told her about the surveillance equipment you and Sanders found at her place?" Vega pressed, watching the vein in Brass's temple throb.

"Not yet… but she needs to know," Jim admitted with a weary sigh.

"I got to ask… what made you think to check?"

A distracted hand reached up to massage his temples. "I got a copy of the incident report on the break-in at her place last year. The window in the garage was broken… her neighbor that called in the report said the intruder broke it then ran, but there was a boot print inside by the kitchen door… signs the door had been tampered with."

Sighing, he added, "Robbery was pretty sure he got inside… into the main house, not just the garage. Nothing seemed to have been disturbed and nothing was missing. That got me thinking. Why break the window if he was leaving when the neighbor saw him… unless he wanted to make it look like it was the kid that had been boosting mowers?"

"Yeah… and why break in if robbery wasn't the motive," Vega agreed.

"Casey was out of town on a business trip… a stalker would know that," Jim completed, "…and a stalker might want more personal information than he could get watching from outside. Once Gil matched the boot impression with ones tied to Strangler dump sites… hell, you know the rest from my report at the briefing."

"Where did you find the cameras?"

"Exactly where you'd expect a stalker to plant them," Jim provided. "Her bedroom had three, the bath two. The rest were scattered throughout the house… total of eleven. She wasn't out of range for more than a few feet at any time no matter where she was in the house."

"Do we know how he was accessing the feeds?"

A weary nod preceded, "Greg found some type of box in the garage hidden in the rafters... it relays the images to a receiver. He's taking Dawn Leavitt back in the morning to see if they can trace the signal… maybe find out how he's tapping it from there. I want to keep a low profile on this for the moment, so we decided not to alert the neighbors by floundering around outside in the dark."

"Keyser couldn't just access the feeds over the internet?" Vega questioned.

"Yes, but apparently, a receiver needs to be in close enough proximity to the feeds to collect the videos and then distribute them to the web. Greg thinks they're find a clone computer Keyser can access and control via an internet connection," Jim supplied. "Way over my head, but the techies thinks there may be more equipment to find."

Frowning, he concluded, "Sanders also found a GPS rigged to the underside of her car. Bastard had her in his sights 24/7… he was stalking her even when I was there and I never suspected."

"Why would you?"

"I should have… at least after it came out she knew Opal," Jim self-castigated. "If I'd just asked about Tina…"

"Water under the bridge, boss," Sam interjected. "I don't see how you could have foreseen any of this… but we don't have time for this now. Too much to do to take time blaming yourself for something you had no way of knowing."

Nodding, Jim offered, "They still need to sweep her office… my house. They plan to do that before they head back here… unless they find something significant at her place. He promised to call if that happens. I'm sending Mitch and Douglas as backup."

Surprised, Sam asked, "You think he got into your place too?"

"No reason to assume he didn't," Jim speculated. "On the up side… we only found video feeds, no audio, so he didn't hear anything."

"Damn… this is going to hit her hard," Sam observed.

"Yeah, it is." Jim agreed. "I grabbed her laptop and sketch pat… stack of books she's reading… packed her some clothes and personal things while Greg swept her house. At least she can try to work and maybe take her mind off of the case. I snagged all of her pictures and videos from the past couple of years. She's sorting through those now. That's keeping her occupied while we work… might even give us some new pictures of Keyser."

"So, where do you plan to stash her?"

"Sheriff and I spoke," Brass began. "For now, we'll crash in the bunk room down the hall from Grissom's office. It's not ideal, but it will keep her safe until we can nail down something else, a safe-house somewhere. Until we know more, neither one of us wants to risk taking her out of the building. Not only would she be exposed, we run the risk of the killer seeing her with another woman… another potential victim."

Pausing, he added, "Besides, we may have other women we need to provide a safe house for, so Burdick wants to wait and see how that goes. Works for me since it keeps Casey close for the moment."

Hesitating for a few seconds, the Sam offered, "I hate like hell to say this, but… if we move Casey to a safe-house…"

"No way we use her as bait!" Brass growled, blue fire flashing in his dark eyes.

Holding up his hand to halt the older man's angry response, Vega agreed. "Last thing I'd suggest. No matter what we do, she'd be at risk and that's not something any of us is willing to consider."

"OK… then what…"

"Aren't you a potential risk?"

Puzzled, Jim fixed his detective with a serious glare. "This guy doesn't seem to be interested in grabbing another man…"

"Not 'at risk'… are you a risk?" Vega emphasized. "If he can't find her, you're his next logical point of contact to find her. You said it yourself."

"Yeah, I guess," Jim agreed. "How does that…"

"Once we move her to a safe-house, you're not going to be able to come and go without running the risk of leading him back to her," Vega observed. "The bunk room may not be the best accommodations, but… we need you on the case not holed up, out of the loop. We both know, if the choice becomes stay with her or stay on the case… that's a no-brainer and I respect that… more than your know."

Sighing, Jim acknowledged the concern. "I see your point, but we can't expect her to live here until we catch this son-of-a-bitch. She'll go stir crazy…"

"She's going to be hiding regardless of where we stash her," Sam argued. "At least here, she'll be able to work… maybe even video conference if she needs to talk to her staff or clients to keep her projects going. There will be plenty of people around for her to talk to… access to a high-speed internet connection… gym, showers, tv… and, most important to her, you."

Before Brass could respond, he added, "Since Valerie Davis… getting into the lab is harder than getting into Fort Knox. The only way into the bunkroom is through the lab… security doors, retinal scanners, the works… police all over the place. In some ways, she'll be less isolated here than in a safe-house. She sure as hell will be well protected."

"Yeah…"

A slightly wicked grin accompanied, "We can even see about moving in a full-size bed so she'll be comfortable. I'd imagine those bunks might be a little… cramped."

The first grin to brighten Brass's face since Casey made her unexpected connection to the investigation flashed briefly across his tired features. "I appreciate your thoughtfulness. Her comfort is important."

"But not yours?" Vega smirked.

A tired sigh preceded, "I'd sleep on a bed of nails if it keeps her safe."

-----

2-27-2010


	23. Chapter 23 Too Close to Home

Title: By Design, Chapter 23

Author: Sorsha_711  
Fandom/Pairing: CSI; Brass/OCF  
Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations  
Disclaimer: A quick check of my bank account should prove I'm not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh! Anything you recognize belongs to the good people that bring us CSI.  
Summary: A serial killer is stalking the streets of Vegas… hell of a time for Brass to meet the woman of his dreams.

By Design, Chapter 23 --- Too Close to Home

-----

"We have an ID on Jane Doe #3… the body found in Esmeralda County."

Looking up to greet the CSI in the doorway of his office, Brass gestured toward the guest chair across from him. "OK. Who was she?"

"Donna Abrams… she worked for Sam," Catherine supplied as she took her seat. "She's been missing for just over two years ago… disappeared a few months after he died."

Closing his eyes in frustration, Jim admitted, "Yeah, I worked that case with Warrick. Donna had just settled an ugly divorce… had custody of her daughter. She quit her job… was selling her condo so they could move to LA… start over. Last person to admit seeing Donna was her mother when she dropped off the kid before heading to LA to finalize plans for the move. She drove out of town and was never seen again."

"Yeah," Catherine confirmed, her eyes fixed on her lap, "that about sums up what's in the file. DNA from the follicle of an eyelash found in tape residue ties her to the Strangler."

Studying her face for a few seconds, Brass went on instinct. "So… beyond the obvious, want to tell me what's eating at you?"

Looking up, she found his steady gaze fixed on her face. Noting how tired he looked… knowing how tired they all were, she decided a straight answer was what they both needed. Now wasn't the time to make him work for it. "Mom never liked Donna. She thinks… that her daughter is Sam's. I never met her, so I don't know if she was right or just jealous. Mom thought every woman in town was after Sam… and a lot were… or at least they were after his money."

"Was he? That would make her kid your half-sister."

"No idea," Catherine admitted. "Donna's mother fought to keep her, but Abrams got custody. If she could have used paternity to invalidate his claim, I think she would have. He's a real bastard."

Sighing, she added, "Frankly, I thought he was behind Donna's disappearance. We have the DNA sample he volunteered… Wendy says it's not a match, so he's in the clear."

Reaching up to rub the grit out of his eyes, Jim agreed. "I liked him for it too… along with most of Vegas. Hard to believe I'm saying this but… being killed by him almost seems… preferable to what really happened. We need to get this bastard, Cath."

"Yeah… yeah, we do, Jim."

A quick glance at his watch confirmed it was just before 6 in the morning. Rising from behind his desk, Jim offered, "Come on, beautiful. I'll buy you breakfast. I haven't eaten since yesterday and I'm starving."

"What's the catch?"

"A friend can't…"

"Since you started dating Casey, you only call me 'beautiful' when you want something," she accused. "What's the price of the meal? It may be cheaper for me to buy my own."

"Hey… it's not my fault you blew your chances to have your wicked way with me by waiting too long to pounce," he teased, knowing they both needed to relax for a few minutes. He had checked earlier and Casey had finally fallen into an exhausted slumber in their makeshift accommodations. He was too keyed-up to join her even though he knew he needed to rest… the fact avoiding her a little longer meant he could put off telling her about the cameras was a guilty bonus.

Her sputter of laughter inspired him to add, "Didn't Lilly ever warn you about the dangers of ignoring gift horses… the perils of procrastination?"

"If you're the Mr. Ed in this twisted analogy, it wasn't your pearly whites on display most of the time… it was the other end of the horse entirely," she shot back. "But that was then and this is now. Casey has you so whipped!"

"Damned straight and proud of it," he smirked. "Breakfast?"

"And…?"

Sighing, he added, "I'll need to pay Donna's mother a visit. I was hoping you'd come with."

Rising to lead the way out of his office, she muttered, "There really is no such thing as a free lunch… or breakfast. I'm expecting the buffet at the Bellagio for this one, Jimmy boy."

-----

"What have you found, Greg?"

Turning to watch Catherine and Jim walk up the driveway, the younger CSI pointed to the house behind him. "Dawn and I traced the signal from the box at Casey's to this house. The receiver's inside. We just got a warrant to go in."

"That's Casey's place," Jim observed, pointing to the roof of a house behind and to the left of the one they were preparing to enter.

"Yeah, I know… close enough to get his signal, but not much danger of either of you noticing him. I'm willing to bet there's a great view of her backyard from the second floor window," Greg observed.

"Who owns the house?" Brass demanded, the idea a monster had been watching them at their most intimate of times making his skin crawl and his anger boil.

"Now that's where this gets very interesting," the CSI supplied. "The house is a rental… the bank foreclosed on the owner last year and they want to sell, so the lease is month to month. The rent is paid electronically from a bank in the Caymans… account's in the name of Henry P. Woods. He's been renting for just over a year."

Rounding on the younger man in surprise, Brass repeated, "Woods?"

Nodding, Sanders offered, "I called Nick to let him know… figured it might help the Feds pry the account information from that Caymans bank having a second felony investigation tied to him. He's on it."

"Have you been inside yet?" Catherine asked, eyeing the exterior of the house for clues of what lay inside. "These houses are within five or six feet of each other. I tend to doubt this is his torture chamber."

"Not yet. We called you, then waited for the warrant… figured you'd want to be here when we went in," Greg replied.

"Right… open it," Brass instructed as a wave of uneasy shivered along his spine. Reaching out to grab Greg's arm, he stopped the younger man's hand inches from putting the key in the lock. "Wait… I've got a bad feeling. Something feels hinky."

"Like what?" Catherine asked, her voice betraying her exhaustion. The visit to Donna Abrams' mother had been emotionally draining and hadn't given them anything new to advance the investigation. Greg's call had come in just as they were leaving her house.

Still holding onto Greg's arm, Jim offered, "Something… I don't know what yet, but… If this house is tied to Keyser… let's make sure he hasn't boobie-trapped the doors… explosives… an alarm. I'd rather move slowly and be wrong than make a bone-head move trying to get inside quickly."

"Yeah… that would be a problem," Greg agreed, his hand quickly withdrawing as he took an instinctive step back.

"We don't have anything on Keyser to suggest he uses explosives," Catherine noted.

"The list of what we don't know about this bastard is a hell of a lot longer than what we do… and this is the first time we've found one of his rat holes," Jim countered. "If I'm just being paranoid, worst it causes is a short delay. If I'm right…"

Trading a look with the wide-eyed AV tech, Greg offered, "We scoped out the exterior from Casey's yard while we waited. There's a sliding glass door on the back patio that's opposite the front entrance. Maybe I can get a better look at the door from there… see if it's rigged."

"Yeah, ok," Brass approved, "but be careful climbing over the fence. We can't assume anything with this bastard… including motion sensors on the exterior."

"Explosives I get," Catherine interjected, "but, if you're hoping not to tip him off we've found his cameras… this place, he probably already knows. Those cameras went dead as soon as Greg took them back to the lab. One he might write off one as a technical glitch, but all eleven? He knows we found them."

"You're probably right… assuming he checks the feeds on a regular basis, but motion sensors could also arm an explosive," Brass reasoned. "All I'm saying is let's be smart about this. Any sign of trouble, we step back and call the bomb squad."

Nodding, Greg disappeared around the back of the house with two of the uniformed officers. He was back in less than five minutes. "You need to make that call. We found a couple of tripwires in the back… very well hidden. I'd never have seen them if I hadn't been looking closely. That's as far as we went."

Moving back toward his car, Jim made the call before ordering, "OK, let's start clearing the block. I want everybody out of these houses before we do anything else. Mitch… you and Douglas…"

-----

"So… what can you tell me about the man that rents this house, Mrs. Baxter?"

The young mother clutching her baby daughter fixed wide, frightened eyes on the detective. "I… not a lot. Mr. Woods doesn't spend much time here… never has company. He's an older man… 70's maybe. He has white hair… stooped over when he walks. He looks like he used to be an athlete… still looks pretty fit for his age."

"You mean he has a muscular build?" Jim pressed.

"I guess," Sally Baxter hedged. "He wears really baggy clothes, so it's hard to tell. He doesn't come around much during the day… spends maybe one or two evenings a week here. He's not very friendly… my husband tried to talk to him a few times, but he was pretty rude, so we said why bother."

"He told you his name was Woods?"

"No… he never said, but… we got some of his mail in our box by mistake… that was how it was addressed… Henry Woods," she admitted, nervously patting the baby's back. "My husband took it over when we saw him drive up. Kent said he was pretty snarky… grabbed the mail out of his hand… told him to put it in his mailbox if it happened again. Didn't even say thank you. Just went into the house and closed the door in Kent's face."

"Really? That is rude," Jim agreed. "Do you remember the sender's name on any of mail?"

"No… it was mostly junk mail, I think." Pausing, she added, "Well, there was an envelope… looked like it might be important. That's the reason we kept it to give to him. We didn't want to put it in the box where it might get swiped."

"Do you remember who sent it to him?"

"No… it was a company, not a person I think," she offered. "Kent might remember. He has a better memory than me."

"OK. Anything else stand out about him?" Brass asked, hoping for a little more detail.

"Well… he usually wears one of those gangster hats… you know the ones like the men wore in old movies," she supplied. "And, he walks with a limp… all stove up and stiff. He uses a cane."

"A fedora… he wears a fedora?" Jim asked, needing clarification. That detail was important.

"Yeah, that's it. I couldn't remember what they're called," Sally agreed. "Like I said, he shows up a few times a week… usually has a bag of takeout. He sticks to himself and… never seems to be there for long. That's about all I know."

"Takeout?" Jim prompted. "Do you remember any labels… McDonalds… BK?"

"Um… he seems to like pizza," she offered.

"Pizza? OK, great. Does he seem to have a favorite place to grab a pie?"

"_Vince's_ I think… at least it looks like their boxes," Sally guessed.

"_Vince's_… the place over in the shopping center next to the _Nathan's_?" Jim asked. The small restaurant was one of the few places he'd found that served a decent pizza since he'd moved to Vegas. Casey had taken him there not long after they'd started dating and it had become a regular stop for them.

/Damn! One more place for this son-of-a-bitch to screw up for us!/

Seeing the distracted young woman nod, he prodded, "Anywhere else?"

Shaking her head, she admitted, "I can't really say. One greasy bag kind of looks like another greasy bag from a distance. Same with those foam containers."

"OK, got it," Jim relented. "You said he uses a cane… limps?"

"Yeah… but he doesn't seem to really need it all the time," she mused. "My granddad is like that… uses a cane just in case his knee gives out. Mr. Wood kind of walks like that… like he's bent over the cane more than leaning into it. He looks more stiff than feeble. Does that make sense?"

"I get what you mean… the cane is more for backup than need," Jim suggested. Seeing her nod in agreement, he asked, "What type of car does he drive?"

"Oh… well, he usually drives an old Buick… dark grey," she offered. "I don't know the model, but my husband probably does. Kent's on his way home. I called him after the officer made Katie and me leave the house. This is so wild. What do you think he did?"

"You said he usually drives a Buick," the detective repeated, avoiding her question. "Does that mean he drives other vehicles some of the time?"

Frowning, she nodded. "I've seen him drive up in some pretty nice cars. It's sort of weird, 'cos he never stays long… maybe ten or fifteen minutes, then he drives off. In fact…"

"OK… in fact…"

"I'm not sure it was him driving those cars," she offered, leaning toward him like she was telling a secret. "Kent says I'm imagining things, but… I could swear the man behind the wheel was a lot younger than Mr. Woods. I tried to get a better look a couple of times, but I couldn't tell."

"What makes you think he looks younger?"

"That's the problem," Sally explained. "He never gets out of the car where I can see him clearly… drives straight into the garage and closes the door behind him before he gets out. All I can tell you is sometimes he's wearing a baseball cap instead of that Fedora he usually wears. That's why I noticed in the first place."

Struggling to not betray his interest, Jim nodded carefully. "So, do you see Mr. Woods outside much when he's here?"

"No. Like I said… he's not very friendly," she repeated. "He drives up and parks in the driveway… never pulls into the garage. He checks his mail, then he goes inside and… well, that's about it.

"He parks the Buick in the driveway, not the garage?" Jim asked, his eyebrow canting upward in surprise at this bit of news. /Damn, we need to get into that garage! There must be something…/

"Yeah. Weird, huh?" she agreed. "Anyway, he doesn't stick around much. His car is always gone before the _Today Show_ is over."

"That's it? He checks the mail and stays overnight… then leaves?"

"Well," she began, "…some mornings he walks down to the park, sits on the bench for a while… watches the joggers, then walks back and… leaves."

Frowning, Jim pressed, "Some mornings? Does he have a regular pattern or is it just random… when he goes to the park?"

"I… maybe, but… I'm not…"

Holding up his hand to stop her before she could confuse herself by over-thinking a point, he asked, "Do you remember any of the makes of the other cars you've seen go into his garage?"

Shrugging her shoulders, Sally began to gently bounce her baby as the little girl began to fuss. "Nice cars… a lot nicer than the one he normally drives. I'm not a car person, so I don't know their names. Kent saw a couple of them, so he would. The only one I'm sure about is the Beemer SUV from a week or so ago. I've been wanting one, but we can't afford it now that I'm not working."

Feeling his heart skip a beat at this piece of information, Brass repeated, "A BMW SUV?"

Nodding, she confirmed, "Yeah, silver."

Seeing the bomb squad commander waving him over, Brass ended the interview. "Thank you. This helps a lot. We'll try to get you back into your home as quickly as possible. And… I'll need to talk to your husband when he gets here, so let the officer at the barricade know to call me over."

-----

"Well? Can you get us in without blowing the place to hell and back, Al?"

Frowning, Lt. Albert Sanchez offered, "Not any time soon, Captain. Whoever rigged this place meant business. Every door and window is wired to blow if someone opens it without first disarming the bombs. There's a key pad by the front door and one by the door into the garage, so I'm betting he has them set to deactivate based on a code… but what the hell that code is…"

"Yeah, a bad guess and it gets messy real fast," Brass acknowledged. "Does this mean we're at an impasse?"

"No… but this will take some time." Sanchez replied. "We'll have to move slowly and deliberately… too big a risk for the neighborhood and my crew to try anything fast."

"Last thing I want is someone to get hurt," Brass agreed. "So… what's the plan?"

"Simple… cut a hole through the roof and gain entry through the attic," the bomb expert supplied. "Clearing the house will take us several hours at a minimum. Once we're in, we have to disarm everything we find before we can risk letting anyone else inside. I'll keep you posted. Want me to give you a call when we start wrapping up or do you plan to wait around?"

"Call me," Brass instructed. "I need to finish interviewing the neighbors about the bastard that's renting this place. Depending on how long that that takes, I may start following up on any leads that generates while you work."

-----

"I think that's Sue… it has to be," Summer Miller, _CASA_'s executive director offered, her shoulders drooping as the fate of one of her charges hit… hit hard. Teri Miller's rendering of Jane Doe # 1 was clinched tightly in her hand.

Containing her heightened interest, Sofia pressed, "Sue? Ok, what can you tell me about Sue? Did she have any scars… tattoos… something that might help me confirm your ID?"

Taking a shaky breath, the other woman recalled, "If that's her… she was found hiding in the basement of one of the buildings over at the _Celebration Centre_ site just before they imploded it. She was so scared and… so sad… had been beaten up repeatedly for years."

Nodding in understanding… that fit the story Brass had given her, Sofia asked, "Do you know Sue's last name?"

A dispirited sigh preceded, "She wouldn't tell me. I'm not even sure Sue was her real name. Her husband abused her regularly… strangled her repeatedly judging from the marks on her neck. Sue was… she was terrified… defeated when we found her. She'd been here several weeks… seemed to be getting better… then she was gone. Nobody knew what happened to her. Tina… Tina Ortiz took her disappearance particularly hard."

"I understand Ms. Ortiz was a volunteer for _CASA_?"

"More than that really," the woman offered, her voice wavering with emotion. "Tina was one of the moving forces behind _CASA_'s creation. She lost a friend to an abusive relationship and was committed to doing what she could to help other women escape her friend's fate. We still haven't gotten over… her murder took the heart out of our board. Now to learn that one of our clients may have died at the same madman's hands…"

Sofia inwardly flinched as she watched a tear slide down the other woman's pale face. Reaching out to pat her arm, she soothed, "I get that… but you have the chance to help us get him before he hurts anyone else."

Receiving a faint nod of agreement, Sofia repeated, "Can you remember anything that might help with the ID?"

It took several deep breaths before Summer offered, "She had a number of scars, but I can't remember anything specific… but she did have tattoos."

Gently pressing, the detective asked, "Tattoos… as in more than one? Do you remember any details… butterflies or…"

"No," Summer interjected, "they were… odd… dark. Most of her upper body was covered."

"Dark? How?"

Pausing to choose her words carefully, she finally offered, "I may be wrong but… I think they were depicting a story or something... grim and very disturbing. Sue was ashamed of them… didn't want me to see them, so… I can't really tell you much… woods, trees… violent images."

"OK," Sofia replied. "Is there anything else you remember?"

"Tina hired an investigator… she was worried Sue's husband had found her."

"Great," Sofia responded. "Did the investigator find anything?"

Sighing, the center director shook her head. "No… a few leads that went nowhere. I can give you his name if it would help. Maybe those leads will mean something to you."

"Thanks. That would be great," she agreed, closing her pad. "If I could get that…"

"There's one more thing, detective. Tina kept her things… the few personal items she had with her," Summer revealed. "The shelter keeps items left by clients for a month, then discards whatever we can't reuse. We just don't have room to store the rest. Anyway, after Tina died… I asked her mother for Sue's things… put the box in the closet in my office hoping to finish what Tina had started."

"We really need to get those items, Ms. Miller," Sofia requested, hopeful there might be something in the box to help find the missing woman's name. "Was there a hair brush or maybe a toothbrush in with her things?"

"Yeah, there should be both. We provide the basics for our clients… most escape with only the clothing on their backs," Summer offered. "There's a necklace and a watch… the clothes she was wearing when they found her along with a few things she found in the donations room. She had tossed… or left behind anything that might have her name or an address on it before she was found."

"Was she wearing a wedding ring?" the detective pressed. "Maybe there was an inscription."

"No… if she had one, she left it behind when she ran," the shelter director replied. "The investigator looked through what we had and couldn't find anything useful to help find her… or give her a name."

"OK… thanks for your help. If I can get that box, I'll see what we can turn up," Sofia concluded as she reached for her ringing cell phone. "Curtis."

"Damn! Do I…"

"Right. Since we can't get inside until they finish, I'm following up on a possible ID for Jane #1…"

-----

The interior of the house was almost entirely empty… a straight-back chair by the patio doors in the living room, a bar stool by the counter in the kitchen, and a table with a shabby green wing chair in one of the two upstairs bedrooms. The bedroom also had an old mattress in the corner, covered by dingy sheets that might have once been white and a faded red blanket. A high-end PC with an 18" flat-screen monitor and photo grade printer had been setup on the table, their quality in stark contrast to the rest of the shabby furnishings. Scattered papers and a few photographs all but covered the remainder of the battered surface.

Pausing by the window, Jim instantly realized the chair was positioned to allow the person sitting there to see into the back of Casey's house. Her bedroom window was clearly visible, as was the entirety of her backyard. The stains spotting the rug and chair hinted that the viewer found the sight arousing. The idea that a deranged killer had been masturbating while watching her made him feel sick.

"Jim… you need to see this."

Turning to see Catherine hovering in the door of the bedroom's walk-in closet, he asked, "You find something?"

"Yeah," she murmured, clearly disturbed by what she had found. "You're going to want to limit access to this room… most of this is 'need to know' only."

Frowning, he walked to her side. A quick review of the photos covering the walls of the closet hit him like a blow to the stomach. "Damn!"

Glancing to her left to study the fury building on her friend's face, Catherine observed, "For what it's worth… this confirms we're on the right track with the investigation."

"Seeing photos of Casey interspersed with ones of his victims isn't what I call right… not in by a long shot," he snarled. "I want this bastard and I want him now!"

Nodding, Catherine observed, "Yeah. We all do… but I know it's become personal for you now that we know he's after her."

"If you're suggesting I can't do my job…"

"Last thing on my mind," she interjected, reaching out to lay a steadying hand on his arm. "I happen to know just how good you are at what you do… and God knows this bastard needs to be stopped. You're on a mission… we all are, so, yeah, we'll get him."

Receiving only a grunt in response to her comment, she noted, "There are a couple of women in these pictures I don't recognize. We have other victims to find."

"And there are at least three other women besides the ones Archie identified up there that don't appear to have been killed… at least he hasn't posted any shots of them being tortured… dead," Brass added. "We need to give all their pictures to the press… make an all out effort to find them today. If we don't, it's only a matter of time before their 'after' pictures end up in his scrapbook."

Startled, she demanded, "You want to take this to the press?"

"We don't have the time to find them by normal means… its taken us two days to find one of them so far," Jim insisted, his resolve fixed. "We need to get them into protective custody immediately, so we need as many eyes helping us find them as possible. If we get lucky, they'll see the pictures themselves and come in voluntarily."

"Yeah… but that will tip him off… maybe make him go after one of them immediately," she argued, "… possibly make him snap and start grabbing women at random."

"Maybe… but we can't run the risk a delay on our part gives him time to grab one of them either," he responded. "They're marked women and we owe it to them to make every effort to find them fast. With the entire Vegas area alerted, maybe it will make it harder for him to grab one of them. Either way, we have to risk it."

"OK. I don't like it but you're right," she reluctantly agreed. "Let me quickly process the closet so you can take those pictures and get them out there."

"Get me a good close shot of each of them… then, give me your data card and I'll have copies made," Jim countered. "Time is key here, but we can't run the risk of screwing up evidence recovery by moving so fast that you miss something. While you're doing that, I'll brief the Sheriff so he can bless releasing the pictures."

-----

Holding up his hand to request silence from the large noisy throng of reporters, Brass began, "This morning LVPD executed a search warrant at a house located at 1223 Cobalt Lane. During the course of this search, we found a number of pictures of young woman we believe are being stalked by the Backwoods Strangler, women we believe are in grave danger. Finding them fast is our top priority, so we are immediately releasing their pictures so the public can help us find them as quickly as possible."

"We have uploaded their pictures to the investigation's main webpage… hard copies are available through the LVPD Public Information Office," he continued, ignoring the questions being shouted at him. "We're asking the public to contact our tip line immediately if they recognize one of these women. We are prepared to offer them protection until the killer is apprehended."

"Captain Brass… Captain Brass… Captain Brass."

"I have one other major piece of news regarding the investigation. We have identified two of the women previously known respectively as Jane Doe #2 and Jane Doe #3 as Beverly Hopkins and Donna Abrams. While it saddens us to confirm their deaths, we take comfort in the knowledge we have returned these women to their families. Our resolve to apprehend the man responsible for their deaths remains our primary objective. We ask that you remember these women but please respect their families' need for privacy as they grieve the loss of their loved ones."

"Captain Brass… Captain Brass… Captain Brass."

"I'll take a few questions, but I need to stress that I can't and won't answer any question that might undermine the integrity of the ongoing investigation. Carol."

"Has the Strangler been living at this house?"

"That's still under investigation. Charlie."

"You think these women are being targeted by the Strangler as potential victims rather than possible victims you haven't found yet?"

Plastering a stoic, yet grim expression on his face, Jim nodded. "Given the context of where we found these pictures… that's the only logical conclusion."

"Were there other pictures?" the reporter pressed.

"I can't comment on that. Dick."

"Do you think there may be other women in danger beyond those whose pictures you found in the house?"

"Again, that's a logical conclusion," Brass agreed. "Look… look, we have no way of knowing if there are other women that have attracted his attention… we have no way of knowing what the release of these pictures might do to his plans. What we do know is these women **ARE** in danger and we need to do everything possible to get them to safety as quickly as possible. Anything less is unthinkable. Jeff."

"Do you feel you're making progress in finding him?"

"We're working this case around the clock," Brass responded. "The task force has over one-hundred officers in the field actively tracking leads and doing everything in our collective power to find him. The FBI and law enforcement agencies across the country are similarly engaged. So yeah, we're making progress. Our finding this house is proof of that. Toni."

"Why was the bomb squad called to this location?'

"The house was rigged with explosives," Jim admitted. "Obviously, we're dealing with a dangerous individual. I can't stress that enough. Alan."

"Have all of the bombs been deactivated?"

"Yes. The bombs were found and disarmed before the task force members were allowed to enter the house. The Bomb Disposal Unit did an outstanding job in neutralizing a serious situation. I would like to take this opportunity to personally thank Lt. Sanchez and his team," Brass acknowledged. "Paula."

"What kind of bombs were used?"

"I can't comment on that. The specifics of the case are still under investigation. Jackie."

"Alan Abrams has long been suspected of involvement in his ex-wife's disappearance. Is he a suspect in this investigation?"

"No. He voluntarily gave us a DNA sample two years ago when Donna first disappeared. That sample does not match the DNA of the Strangler. Alan Abrams is not, I repeat, **not **a suspect in our investigation. Dan."

"The bodies of the two women identified were found outside of Clark County… where for each?"

"Donna's remains were recovered by the Esmeralda County Sheriff's Office and Beverly was found in Lincoln County. It's taken the combined efforts of a lot of people to make these ID's and I want to thank personnel from both of those counties and the members of our team for their hard work. While both families hoped for a different outcome," he acknowledged, "their daughters have been found and can finally be given a proper burial."

"Neighbors are telling me you are a frequent visitor at a house located one street over owned by Casey Edgers, the principle architect of the _Celebration Centre_ project. Has your involvement with her brought her to the attention of the Strangler?"

Fighting to control his anger, Jim bit out, "Ms. Edgers is at a safe location where she will remain until we know more."

"Has your relationship made her a target?"

"I can't comment on that. Al."

"How did you find this house? Was your relationship with Ms. Edgers…"

"Like I've said repeatedly, I'm not commenting on the specifics of the investigation," Jim interjected. "Thank you. Further questions can be directed at the LVPD's Public Information Office. The next regular briefing will be at nine a.m. tomorrow."

-----

Casey looked up from her nest of pillows in the bunk against the far wall of the dormitory style room. She instantly knew something was wrong… seriously wrong from the expression on Brass's face as he stepped around the tarp wall into their 'quarters'. "Jim… honey?"

Sighing deeply, Jim walked over to sit on the edge of the bed. "Babe… we need to talk."

"OK," she murmured, leaning over to place her laptop on the floor next to the bed. "What's happened?"

"Case… there's no easy way to tell you this so… we found surveillance cameras in your house," Jim began. "I asked Greg Sanders to sweep it after I looked at the incident report from the break-in at your place last year. I should have asked your permission first… but I didn't want to upset you if my hunch was wrong."

Her voice was little more than a croak as she whispered, "Cameras… who would…"

"We traced the signal to a house on the street behind yours," Jim offered. "We've linked that house to the Strangler."

Her face lost all traces of color as she stared at him in horror. "He… he was watching…"

"Yeah," he confirmed, reaching over to pull her into his arms. "I'm guessing Andy saw him leaving your house, not trying to enter. He had to have been inside the house for a couple of hours."

"He was there… he was watching… listening…"

"Watching, but not listening," Jim qualified, tugging her a little tighter to his chest as he felt her sag with shock. "There wasn't any audio… just video cameras."

"Where…"

"They were all over the house, baby," he murmured into her hair. "I'm so sorry."

"So… he saw me… watched me… us…"

"Yeah."

Jim settled back against the wall and drew her limp body into his lap. The knowledge that sanctity of her home had been violated… that her most private moments had been witnessed by a deranged killer was devastating. In many ways, he knew the experience was akin to an emotional and psychological rape. Nothing he could say would make that right or take away the sense of terror and vulnerability that knowledge inspired.

Sadly, he knew, even after Keyser had been captured and locked away, Casey would never feel entirely safe, entirely secure in her own home ever again. He couldn't even offer her the comfort that his presence would keep her safe. He had been there with her and had been unable to protect her. While he knew logically there had been no way for him to know or even suspect what was happening, that knowledge did little to assuage his guilt… or his own sense of being violated.

-----

3-7-2010


	24. Chapter 24 Do You Feel Lucky?

Title: By Design, Chapter 24

Author: Sorsha_711  
Fandom/Pairing: CSI; Brass/OCF  
Rating: **M,** for language and references to violence; some adult situations  
Disclaimer: A quick check of my bank account should prove I'm not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh! Anything you recognize belongs to the good people that bring us CSI.  
Summary: A serial killer is stalking the streets of Vegas… hell of a time for Brass to meet the woman of his dreams.

By Design, Chapter 24 --- Do You Feel Lucky?

-----

"Jim… my phone is ringing off the hook from every media outlet in the country. How many of these women have we been able to find so far?" the Sheriff began, appearing out of the swarm of LVPS personnel clogging the hallway outside of Brass's office. "I need an update before I can make any statement to the press."

Nodding in greeting to his superior, Brass led the way into his office and closed the door behind them. "We've found four of the seven women so far. We have ID's on the other three, but we're still looking for them. I hope to have them all accounted for sooner rather than later."

"Four? Good to hear. Where have you got them stashed?"

"In interrogation rooms for now. I put each of them with one of the detectives working the case so they can run them through the same questions we asked Casey," Jim responded, taking a deep breath hoping to retain his focus. Worry over his lover's state of mind clawed at his exhausted senses, senses already frayed by lack of sleep and the stress of the investigation. "I'm hoping we'll get a few new leads… possible connections to places Keyser frequents. Once they're together, its human nature to talk and we didn't want to have a group memory distort their statements."

"Yeah, last thing we need at this point," Burdick agreed, studying the deep lines etching Brass's face. "Has Grissom's team finished processing the house yet?"

"Yes, but they've recovered a lot of evidence, so it will be a while before they have much to offer," he replied. "They found boxes of tapes and cd's… several maps in the bedroom in addition to the pictures and the pc itself."

"Anything useful on the PC?"

Dropping wearily into his desk chair, Brass continued. "The AV lab is searching the hard drive. At a minimum, Keyser was using it to backup the video feeds from Casey's house to CD's. Johnson's pretty sure none of it was ever sent out using the web… no wireless card or internet connection, so that's one less indignity she'll have to face."

"Glad to hear it… for both of you," Burdick acknowledged as he took a seat across from his senior detective. "I hear, once an image hits the web, it's impossible to completely delete it."

"Yeah," Brass muttered, growling softly at the idea of some slime drooling over pictures of Casey. Shaking his head to clear it of the unwelcomed images, he offered, "Anyway, I left several uniforms to secure the place and keep gawkers at bay. I can just see some asshole thinking he'll be the big avenger trashing the place."

"Yeah, can't leave it to chance given the mood around town, but it's a hell of a waste of manpower with all we're up against," the Sheriff groused. "The bomb squad's sure they found everything? I don't want to run the risk of loosing any more of our people because we missed something."

"Sanchez and his team went over the place with a fine tooth comb… the dogs didn't find anything suspicious when they made their final sweep," he replied. "Al left a couple of his people at the scene until CSI finished their work just to be sure. He feels confident they cleared it completely."

"OK… what else?"

"Willows found a box containing woman's undergarments next to the chair in the bedroom along with a stack of photo ID's of his victims… drivers licenses, student ID's, that sort of thing," Jim added, "…trophies. Judging from the semen stains on them… and the chair and rug, he must get off on them… or the sight of Casey's bedroom window."

An uneasy frown from his boss accompanied, "Right."

Rubbing a stiff hand over his eyes, Jim focused on the rest of the new information available to him. "With the exception of the items from the first auction, the rest of the missing personal property was recovered from the storage cabinets in the garage. He must have the first round of items stored somewhere else… possibly ready to ship once he gets his money."

"I just don't get it," the Sheriff admitted. "He steals their jewelry and electronics… whatever… hell, he steals anything not nailed down. So why bother sending the stuff people bought on the auctions… why not keep reselling it?"

"Yeah… been wondering that myself," Jim agreed, tilting his chair so he could stare at the ceiling. "If he doesn't follow through, the auction sites get a bunch of complaints… all with Las Vegas addresses. If they report it to us… naw, better to sell it for easy money than risk getting picked-up with a dead woman's earrings."

"Put like that… yeah, ok. What about the ID's?" Burdick questioned. "Do we have a list of names yet?"

"Catherine's still matching them up to known victims… ours and from other cities. First indications are," the detective admitted, "we have more names to add to the list of victims… bodies still out there… mostly in other parts of the country, but at least a couple are local. Catherine's sending the FBI the names from other places for them to run down. Holstein and Vega are running down any she finds with local addresses."

Frowning, the Sheriff demanded, "How many is 'more'?"

"Three on our turf unless one of the other names turns out to be tourist or a recent transplant to the area that hadn't updated her drivers license," Brass offered, "…then our number could go up. Another 13 nationwide."

"Dear God!"

"Yeah," Jim agreed, clinching his eyes shut as the pain in his temples began to pound. "Most appear to be isolated… possibly women he encountered as he moved from killing ground to killing ground. Once she's added them to the map, we may know more about his movements over the years. Whether or not it helps us find him… too soon to tell. It might help us track him if he does decide to pull up stakes and move on."

Fixing Brass with an unwavering stare, Burdick repeated his earlier edict. "This ends here, Jim. He won't leave Vegas."

A tired, frustrated sigh preceded, "That's the plan."

Frowning, his boss demanded, "What else have you recovered from the house?"

After taking a sip of water from the bottle on his desk, Brass continued. "Stokes found several large plastic storage bins in the garage that might have been used to store and transport items already sold. There were receipts and other scraps of paper… odds and ends at the bottom of the bins… soil deposits on the undersides. Hodges is sorting through it for anything that ties to one of the victims or gives us new places to search."

"I wish we could have run the risk of setting up surveillance on the house… maybe grabbed him the next time he came by," Burdick complained. "This might have been the best opportunity we'll have to collar him until the mail drop. That's still days out."

Rubbing his neck in an agitated manner, Jim swiveled to face his guest. "Yeah… but the odds are pretty strong he already knew the house was compromised. Once we realized the place was rigged to blow…"

"…you had no choice but to clear the block and remove a very real threat to that neighborhood," his boss concluded. "I'm not second-guessing your decision, Jim… just venting. You did the only thing you could do under the circumstances. Anything else to report?"

"Yeah, well… Sanders recovered several tire tread prints from the garage and driveway along with some automotive fluids he's hoping to tie to the stolen vehicles. The impressions don't match those found at the dump sites, so he probably never drove the van there," Brass offered. "That fits our theory he leaves the victim subdued in the van and goes back for their vehicle. The house must be his staging area where he clears it of whatever he can sell… then he takes it to his fence."

"Plays. Now that he knows we're looking for his van," Burdick predicted, "I'd put good money on the odds of him ditching it and finding a new one."

"Dispatch and the Auto Detail have been alerted to let us know if any vans or similar vehicles are reported stolen… same alert was sent to departments in the surrounding counties and across the state lines," Jim responded. "If he grabs one, we're all over it."

"Good. Anything else?"

"There were several bags of trash in the kitchen and bath… CSI is sorting through it looking for receipts, mail, whatever," the detective continued. "I doubt he'd risk going back to any place we can tie to the house… at least not as Woods, but we may get lucky and get additional surveillance footage… maybe an idea of other disguises he uses."

"Long shot, but we can't rule it out," Burdick observed.

"I interviewed a neighbor that got some of his mail by mistake," Brass added. "He remembered a letter from a travel company, but not that name. Gabe Williams is following up on that… local agencies and internet companies. Keyser may be preparing to run, so we may get a preview of his travel plans."

"Add in the fingerprint lifts and semen samples… the material they were already processing," Jim summarized, "and its all hands on deck. Gil hopes to have a prelim for me by tomorrow morning, but the full report will take days… weeks for some of it."

"ATF wants jurisdiction over the investigation into the explosives," Burdick reported. "With all we have on our plates, may be for the best."

"I trust Gil's people more than I do theirs," Brass countered. "The FBI is chaffing at the bit to take over the rest. We cede part…"

"… and the Feds will want it all. That's not going to happen," the Sheriff declared. "This is a local investigation and they don't have jurisdiction unless I step aside. Hell, we're closing in on him. No way I'll let them swoop in and take credit for our work… especially since they failed to realize they had a serial for over 25 years! My predecessor made that bonehead move… had to stand there and smile while they took credit for our people's work. Not going to happen on my watch. OK, I'll tell ATF thanks but no thanks for now."

"Glad to hear you say that," Jim admitted. "We'd have a mutiny on our hands if you had let them take over… especially after that debacle with Syd Goggle. A lot of people still have a bad taste in their mouth over Mobley's decision."

"Yeah… you and Grissom at the top of the list," Burdick laughed. "Do we have any plans for how we're going to house these women until he's captured?"

"Conrad is coordinating that," Jim offered, relieved to have that part of the operation off of his plate. "Three of the women are married with young children, so it's going to be a logistical nightmare. Last I heard, Nellis had a block of base housing open that he's hoping to use… base security was tightened after 9-11, so that may be the best place for them."

"Any help keeping them safe would be a Godsend. I'll touch base with him before I talk to the press," he replied, secretly sharing Brass' relief that his Undersheriff was handling the sticky issue. "What about Casey?"

"For now, I'd prefer to have her stay where she is," Jim admitted, the fingers of his left hand digging into the arm of his chair. He hadn't slept in over 48 hours and the strain was showing. Most of the other members of the task force had crashed for a few hours after getting back from Cobalt, but he'd been to keyed up to sleep. "She's safe and I don't have to worry about my comings and goings leading the killer to her hiding place."

Frowning, Burdick questioned, "Is she willing to stay here indefinitely?"

"She says so," Jim hedged. "She has her computer so she can work. I picked up a stack of books and music… a bunch of DVD's from her house so she has some distractions. Besides… I think the idea of leaving here and possibly attracting Keyser's attention to another woman scares the hell out of her. Add in the shock over the cameras… she's taking that hard. I'll keep an eye on her, but… for now this arrangement seems like the best we have to offer."

"And it keeps you on the case," Burdick added, "though that may become tricky if the media starts obsessing about your relationship with her. We need to nip that one off quickly."

"Yeah," Brass agreed, stifling a wave of anger that his love life had become fodder for the press. It was bad enough that videos and pictures of them had been recovered at Cobalt Lane. "Conrad wants to release a general statement acknowledging that Casey is my fiancé…"

"Fiancé?? When did that happen?" Burdick exclaimed, rising to thump Brass soundly on his back. "You're a lucky man to find someone like her… smart, caring, and oh-so easy on the eyes!"

"Yeah, I know," Brass agreed, a faint hint of red coloring his features… much to his supervisor's amusement. "We got engaged last weekend, but this wasn't exactly how we planned to announce it."

The smile on Burdick's face gave way to a weary frown. "No, I guess not. How's she taking that?"

"Haven't had time to tell her yet," Jim replied. "I hate to say it but Conrad's right… our engagement means a lot more people will take our relationship seriously. Last thing I want is for Casey to get portrayed as just some woman I'm sleeping with. She deserves a hell of a lot better than that."

"Nothing else we can do at this point."

Nodding, Jim continued, "Conrad wants to say she **may** be one of the women the Strangler has been stalking… let the possibility that our relationship is the source of his interest obscure the rest. Then, he can repeat that she's in a safe location while we continue to work the case."

"I'll talk to him, but… I don't see that we have any other options," the Sheriff observed. "We can't ignore the question or it looks like we're hiding something. Since we're not, why make it difficult for any of us."

"Yeah," Jim acknowledged. "PR's also drafting a statement warning Keyser's using disguises to evade detection. He's not likely to use the big glasses and ball cap again now that we've outed that one… or the old man. We can't run the risk of a woman being grabbed because she relied on that information. We've gone back to stressing his basic appearance… height, weight, build. Those he can't change… only distort."

"Needs to be done. Leave it with Conrad and get some sleep," the Sheriff ordered, fixing his captain with a stern glare. "You haven't slept since you reported back on Monday and we both know the physical and psychological impacts of sleep deprivation. We all need to be at the top of our game… and you're not even at the ballpark."

-----

Sofia looked up from the file the private investigator had prepared for Tina Ortiz regarding the woman missing from the _CASA_ shelter. "The window into her room looked like it had been messed with… jimmied?"

"There was wear and tear all over the jam and sill… scuffs and tool marks," the man hedged. "Some of it looked fresh, but nothing conclusive. I called a buddy from the crime lab… he went by and took a look… pulled a few prints and a couple of shoe impressions from under the window. The prints were either unknowns or maintenance workers… volunteers at the shelter. It was a non-starter evidence wise."

"He pulled prints… got impressions?" she repeated, making a note to see if a report existed documenting the evidence.

"Yeah," the PI replied. "The shelter was hesitant to file a formal report without more proof. They were worried it would send the message the shelter wasn't safe. Not sure I agreed that was a good decision, but… Ms. Ortiz shared their concern and she was paying my tab."

Nodding in understanding, Sofia asked, "What's your buddy's name? I'll check with him… maybe get lucky and get a hit that ties to the perp I'm after."

"Stan Buckwalter… works swing," he offered.

Jotting down the name, she probed, "Yeah, I know Stan… good guy. You weren't able to get a tag number on the van reported in the area the night she went missing?"

Shaking his head, the former cop… a middle-aged man named Rickard offered, "Naw… I knocked on every door in the area… talked to anyone that would give me the time of day. Nobody remembers seeing anything suspicious, but several people remembered seeing a van… a light grey panel van… man in the front seat… white was about all I could get as far as a description."

"Anything more would be a help."

"Sorry, but that was about it… he might have had a mustache, maybe a beard… one said he looked fat, but another said he looked average. You know the dance. It's all there in my report," Rickard answered. "He never got out of the van when anyone was around, so that was about all they could tell me."

"Get a make on the van?"

"Ford… probably an Econoline… light grey panel style with a big dent on the front passenger door…" he began, only to come to an abrupt halt. "Shit! The van! The miserable bastard was the Strangler?"

Sighing, Sofia offered, "I'll let you know what I find out, but it's starting to look that way."

-----

The silky skin under his cheek shifted slightly. Acting on instinct, Jim reached out to wrap his arm around the waist of his companion. A gentle hand rubbed his back, while a soothing whisper encouraging him to fall back into a deep sleep. A contented sigh caressed her throat as he did just that.

-----

"I can't say I'm surprised she's dead," the young woman offered, a tear streaking down her cheek. "When we hadn't heard from Justine after this long, we had begun to… but, I figured she'd OD'ed… or a psycho john had slit her throat. That's why I filed the missing persons report. You're sure she's one of **his** victims?"

"I'm very sorry for your loss." Sighing, Jim added, "We were able to recover evidence from your sister's remains that conclusively link her to the Strangler. What can you tell me about the last time you saw Justine?"

"It's been over a year. She came by to see Joey… didn't bother to call first to see if it was a good time… but then, she never did," Corrine Olivetti Paulson replied. "I had just got home from work… was making supper and she showed up wanting to play mommie for a few hours. She hadn't seen him in months… she started yelling at me saying I wasn't taking care of him right… like I was holding him back somehow. Joey was born addicted to crack. He… he's been a little slow to develop, but we're doing the best we can for him."

"That must have been a rough," Jim observed, glancing over at the child in the playpen. /Bad enough to destroy your own life on that crap but to do it to your kid…/

"Yeah, it was," Corrine agreed, distractedly wiping at her cheeks. "The doctors say he's doing a lot better than they expected… that his problems aren't as bad as they first thought, but… she never did right by him and… his problems all fall on her. I tried to get her to stay clean while she was pregnant, but… Jus's an addict… never had any self control when it comes to drugs. I guess it got her killed one way or the other."

"Hard to say at this point," Jim hedged. While he knew she was probably right, it wasn't his place to stand in judgment. "Going back to the last time you saw her… did she mention where she was going next? Maybe she mentioned her plans for the money?"

Puzzled, Corrine shook her head. "She didn't have any money. Jus was complaining about being broke and not being able to pay her rent… making excuses for why she couldn't help with Joey's doctor bills. Where would she have gotten any money… well, more than what it took to keep that fleabag apartment she called home… score her next fix?"

"She didn't mentioned having $2500?" Jim asked.

"Justine never had that kind of money," Corrine scoffed. "You must be mistaken."

Frowning, Jim supplied, "Do you remember the date when you last saw Justine?"

"It's been over a year," their victim's younger sister repeated. "Now that I think… it wasn't long after Joey's second birthday. She had this huge plastic dump truck she'd found somewhere to give him. That's what got her so mad… he wasn't able to play with it like she'd expected."

"OK," he prompted. "When's his birthday?"

"February 12," she supplied.

"So… she didn't come to see you later that year… the end of April?" Jim pressed, needing to clarify the date. "I was told she asked to be dropped off here… April 29 of last year."

"No… I'm sure the last time I saw her was right after his birthday," Corrine repeated. "If she had money, it should go to help take care of Joey. Both my husband's and my hours have been cut back what with the economy being so bad, so we could sure use an extra $2500."

"I'm sorry, but I have no idea what happened to that money. Nothing was found with her body," Jim replied. "If she was helping with his care, there are a few programs available from victims' assistance. I'll have someone contact you… see what they can do to help."

"Thanks, that would be a great… but who would give her money? She lived day-to-day… never had more than enough to pay a week's rent on her place… food when she bothered to eat," Corrine recalled. "Made me sad watching her throw her life away… then she had Joey. I hoped she's get her act together then… for him if nothing else. She loved the boy, but… she never could stay clean."

"You're sure that visit in February of last year was the last time you saw your sister?" Jim interjected hoping to avoid the details how she came by the money.

"I don't remember the exact date, by yeah… it was right after Joey's birthday, so it had to be February, maybe early March at the latest," she confirmed. "If she came here in April, she didn't come inside."

Looking up from the notes he was adding to his pad, Jim asked, "Is there anywhere else around here she might have gone… family, friends?"

"I'm about all the family she had left in the area," she replied. "Our mother died a few years ago and Dad's in the VA nursing home… Alzheimer's."

"I'm sorry," Jim offered. "So… there's no place else…"

"There's a bar… hell, it's a pit," Corrine began, "a few blocks over. If she had a little money, she might have gone there instead."

"What's the name of this place?"

"_Wayne's_."

-----

"Hell, I barely remember who was in here last night, much less last year," Derrick 'Lucky' West, the current owner of _Wayne's Lounge _growled. "Besides, my customers wouldn't take it too kindly if I talked about them to a cop."

Fixing the tall, spare man with a fierce glare, Brass countered, "You don't have to worry about this customer objecting. Justine Olivetti's dead."

"Dead? Shit!" West exclaimed. "I'd wondered where the fuck she was. It's not like her to stay out of here for this long. Should have knowed something had happened to her. So… what did?"

The five hours sleep he'd managed the night before had helped him regain his focus. Waking up in Casey's arms hadn't hurt either… although the idea of sleeping in his lover's arms in the middle of the crime lab… with the full approval of the Sheriff, was still a mind-blowing thought. Forcing his mind back to the bar owner, he asked, "She was a regular?"

"Not so much a regular… a few times a month maybe," Lucky skated. "She'd show up when she had a little extra cash and hook from the bar while she had a few… said it beat waiting on the street corner."

"And you were cool with letting a pro work out of your place?" Brass pounced, knowing that admission could lead to having the bar's license revoked. "Were you taking a cut? Maybe I need to bring a few of my guys from Vice down here and let them set up camp… see if you're running a front for prostitution. You a gambling man, Lucky, 'cos we're about to see if you live up to your name?"

Holding up his hand, the bar man exclaimed, "Hey… nothing like that. The girl had a sweet mouth… when she was using it for something other than complaining. She gave me a freebie once in a while to look the other way. I swear to God, that was it!"

Still glaring, Brass pushed, "So… in exchange for my accepting your bullshit story… do you remember Justine Olivetti coming in here last April?"

"Honest man… that was like a lifetime ago," West argued, running his hand through the scraggly fringe of limp blond hair ringing his head. "I knew it had been a while since she'd been around, but… it's not like I keep tabs on every whore working the area… I ain't their daddy or their pimp."

A voice from far end of the bar interjected, "She came in here one night… had a wad of money burning a hole in her pocket."

Turning to study the wreck of a man huddled at the far end of the bar, Jim asked, "And you are?"

Muddy brown eyes flicked in his direction for a few seconds before their owner returned to staring at the grimy surface of the bar. "Amos Gentry's the name. Lucky's right… girl has a real sweet mouth when it's occupied… nasty little bitch otherwise."

Moving down to talk to the bar's only mid-morning patron, Jim pressed, "So… did you take advantage of her skills one last time? Maybe that mouth stopped being so sweet… talked too much… said the wrong thing and you decided to shut the bitch up… permanently."

"Like I said, she had some money… kept going on about needing to go see her sister… give it to her for her kid," Gentry mumbled. "Like I gave a damn…"

"And you decided to have a little fun and make a little money in the bargain?" Jim baited, knowing the old man wasn't the killer, but hoping to encourage the sharing of some useable information.

"I had just gotten my social security check so I was going to treat myself… didn't need her damned money," the old man muttered, his body beginning to droop as the liquor reasserted itself. "She said she'd be back after she took care of her business to take care of mine… told me not to drink her money while she was gone. She never came back, so I settled for Sally. No finesse… not like Justine. She had real skills. Sorry to hear she's dead."

"Yeah, I can see you're all broken up," Brass mocked. "That was the last time you saw her?"

"Yeah," the old man confirmed, an unsteady hand waved in the direction of the bar's entrance. "Saw her giving him hell by the door… then they were gone. Figured she got a better offer."

Perking up at the last bit of news, Jim pressed, "She was having an argument with a man by the door?"

"Said that didn't I?" he slurred

Determined to keep him talking, Jim pressed, "Hey… stay with me. Did you recognize the man she was arguing with?"

"Bastard," he muttered, "… looked like she knew him."

"Has he been around since that night?" Brass questioned, fighting the urge to grab the old man and shake the information he needed from his alcohol-addled brain. Years of hard-won experience controlled the impulse even as his left hand clenched and unclenched.

"I don't pay men no attention… not some goddamned fairy," Gentry mumbled, a fog settling over his brain as the brief flash of lucidity began to fade. "May have to pay for tail but…"

Realizing he was about to loose his witness, Jim ordered, "Hey… I need you to FOCUS! What did this guy look like?"

"Big guy… scars on his neck," the old man offered, his speech slurring badly as he drained the dregs from the glass in front of him. "Arrogant prick… never has anything to say. Has-been, never-was boxer… sits in the corner… acts like he's better than everybody."

"OK… you remember seeing him again?"

Jim winced as the old man's head hit the bar, narrowly missing the pillow he'd tried to form with his arms. Brass knew he was out for the count. "Damn!"

"He means Sean."

Rounding back on the bar owner, Brass demanded, "Sean?"

"Yeah," Lucky agreed, looking uneasily around to be sure no one had overheard him talking to a cop. The tense set of his shoulders eased as he confirmed his only patron was passed out cold. "He comes in once in a while… sits in that corner… never has much to say."

"What did he mean… 'has-been boxer'?" Jim prodded, gripping his pad so tightly his knuckles were stark white. /A boxer named Sean… scars… has to be Keyser!/

Shrugging indifferently, West offered, "He never talks much… but one night… after Saporta wiped the floor with Mangus in that rout over at Caesars, he comes in… drunk off his ass and ranting about the fight… 'no skills, no discipline', shit like that. Kept saying his father or him woudda kicked both their asses… like he was the heavyweight cham'peen of the world, not some low-life bastard hanging out in a dump like this. Still don't know how he afforded no goddamned tickets… fuckers went for $150 face… scalpers…"

"OK… he was claiming to be a boxer?" the detective pressed.

"Yeah, I guess," Lucky agreed, looking nervously around a second time. "Hate to admit it but… that dude scares hell out of me."

"Why? You must see your share of bad-ass mothers in a place like this?" Jim countered.

"If you only knew," West muttered. "But this guy… One night, one of my regulars pissed him off… Sean had him up against the wall, choking him with his arm… fast as hell. He was sitting there one second and the next… Took three of us to pull him off… bastard is strong as hell even if his right arm is mostly worthless."

Jim's right eyebrow canted upward as he demanded, "What's wrong with his right arm?"

"How the fuck should I know, man? Alls I knows is the right one twitches… real weird like," the younger man supplied. "He sits there… never talks to nobody, just nurses a few beers. Holds his right hand in front of him… clenching and unclenching it over and over. Weird!"

"His arm twitches?" Jim repeated. "What does that mean?"

Frowning, Lucky shrugged his shoulders. "It means it twitches… shakes… the whole side of his body sometimes. Can't be no clearer."

"Can he use it at all?"

"Yeah… he tries to use it, but… he'll drop whatever he's holding if it starts shaking… like his hand can't keep a grip. His face goes beet red and… you can see him gritting his teeth… like he's trying to make it stop… only he can't. Makes him made as hell," Lucky described. "He's a mean som-bitch… his hand… somebody says something he don't like… you never know what'll set him off. I learned pretty damned quick to turn off the tube when Sean comes in."

"Yeah? What does he do?" Jim asked.

"One guy made the mistake of laughing the first time he spilled his beer. He had Birney pinned to the wall in 3 seconds, flat," Lucky recalled. "I thought he'd strangle Birney before we got him off. Since then… the place goes quiet as hell if he drops anything. Pisses him off big time… he storms out like he's looking for a fight. Hate to meet up with him in that mood. Wouldn't surprise me to know he killed someone… bastard gives off a bad vibe. If Justine crossed him…"

"Was he one of Justine's regulars?"

"I doubt Justine was his type… about the only time he talks is to rant about one of the girls if they come in for a drink," he offered. "Man has a real hate thing going for hookers. You think he killed Justine?"

Refusing to confirm or deny the accuracy of the question, Brass demanded, "Can you describe him?"

"Shit! You do!" West exclaimed, a suddenly damp hand reaching up to wipe at his brow.

Taking a deep breath to control his frayed temper, Jim repeated, "Can you describe him?"

Looking a little dazed, West offered, "6' maybe… brown hair… sorry-ass scruffy beard. Like Amos said, got scars on his neck… big ugly ones along the whole fucking side of his throat… right side I think."

Flipping open his note pad, Jim began to record the main points of his interview with the two men. "OK. What else? You know a last name?"

"Shit! Ain't supposed to know what I know!"

Struggling to keep his anger in check, Jim bit out, "And that means?"

"I overheard him talking to someone on his phone once… called himself Sean. Didn't use no last name," Lucky admitted. "Hell, I ain't no fool… no way I'd call him by name to his face. He's not the type to appreciate being knowed if you get my meaning."

"Anything else?"

"Dude must spend a lot of time in a gym… looks like he stacks… hell, he always seems to be edging on a 'roid rage… pissing temper," West offered.

"Keep going," Brass urged. "Don't stop now that you're on a roll."

Fixing the detective with a nasty glare, the bar owner took a moment trying to recall anything else. "He's from back east… Pirates fan… wears a ball cap with their logo most of the time. That's all I knows, man… honest."

"What does he usually wear besides the ballcap? Does he wear a uniform?"

"Not in here… just jeans… baggy shirt. Nothing fancy," Lucky offered, "…well…"

"Well?"

"Dude wears a pair of kick-ass boots… heavy steel-toed mothers," the younger man supplied. "Damned things are high-end… must have cost him a butt-load of money."

"I need for you to sit down with a sketch artist and describe him to her," Brass insisted.

"Shit," West bit out, "…you want to get me killed?"

"I'd be only too happy to haul you out of here in cuffs if it helps assure your continued existence,' Brass countered, "but, you can either cooperate with this investigation and talk to the sketch artist or I'll have a dozen uniforms camped out on your doorstep within the hour. Now… what's it going to be?"

Throwing up his hands in a show of surrender, West insisted, "Let me lock up the place… put the till in the safe before you cuff me. I leave anything worth grabbing out where someone can get at it, it'll sure as shit be gone before I get back."

Looking over a the uniformed officer waiting just inside the doorway of the bar, Brass ordered, "Put him in cuffs once he finishes tidying up and take him to the station… make it look legit. And take sleeping beauty there too. He might remember something useful once he sobers up… in a few days."

-----

Stepping back into the brilliant sunlight of a Nevada morning, Brass shaded his eyes against the sudden glare that hurt even through the dark tint of his sunglasses. Looking to the north, he studied the sign hanging over a strip club in the next block as he pulled out his cell phone. "Sofia… Jim. I think I've found the bar with Keyser does his drinking before he picks up hookers."

"No… a miserable dive a block down a side street from the _Neon Moon_… place called _Wayne's Lounge_," he replied. "Talk to the guys in Vice and see what they can tell you. And we need to arrange for 24/7 surveillance in case he comes back for a cold one… plain clothes only."

"Owner's on his way to the station to sit with Tess and give us a sketch," Jim supplied. "Took a little persuading, but he saw it my way in the end

"Yeah, I'm sure," he offered. "Justine Olivetti was last seen leaving here in the company of a man that fits Keyser's description… an ex-boxer that goes by the name Sean."

"Denny actually let's you kiss him with that mouth? Yes, fucking way…"

-----

3-13-2010


	25. Chapter 25 Wrong Number

Title: By Design, Chapter 25

Author: Sorsha_711  
Fandom/Pairing: CSI; Brass/OCF  
Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations  
Disclaimer: A quick check of my bank account should prove I'm not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh! Anything you recognize belongs to the good people that bring us CSI.  
Summary: A serial killer is stalking the streets of Vegas… hell of a time for Brass to meet the woman of his dreams.

By Design, Chapter 25 --- Wrong Number

-----

"Were you able to get any usable DNA off the brush Sofia Curtis recovered from the woman missing from the _CASA_ shelter, Wendy?"

Looking back over her shoulder as her boss entered the lab, the DNA tech nodded. "Yes, I did. It was a partial match to the sample from Jane Doe #1's tooth… not enough on its own to give us a conclusive ID… the tooth sample was too degraded to give me a complete sequence. But… I took a chance and ran it against the missing person data base. We got lucky."

"There was a sample on file?" Grissom repeated, accepting the report from the DNA tech.

"Yep," Wendy confirmed. "The missing person's report said she had multiple tattoos on her upper body… a forest scene. Dr. Robbins confirmed that Jane #1 had tattoos over a large part of her body including one across her arms and upper chest that match the description. The shelter director told Det. Curtis she remembered seeing them as well. Dr. Robbins feels comfortable with the ID."

Nodding, the scientist began to read the file. "Rose Joyner… why was her DNA on record?"

"She went missing about two years ago from her home in Henderson," Wendy replied. "A neighbor filed a missing persons report. Apparently, she'd found Rose hiding in her garage a few weeks prior to her disappearance covered in blood. Rose's husband showed up before she could call the police. He claimed Rose had fallen down the stairs… said he'd take her to the hospital. The neighbor tried to get Rose to stay while she called the Henderson PD, but she refused… seemed eager to get him out of the neighbor's house."

"If the husband is Keyser, she was probably worried about the neighbor's safety," Gil speculated. "That still doesn't explain how they got a blood sample."

"The neighbor… Susan Tassler didn't buy the fall down the stairs story, so she went to the police to file a report… took them several bloody towels she'd used to clean Rose's injuries hoping to underscore how bad the injuries were… gave them a few pictures she managed to take before Eric Joyner arrived and hauled Rose out of there," Wendy reported. "Henderson kept the towels and got the lab to extract a DNA sample when she disappeared. The pictures she took gave us the details of her tattoos."

"OK," Grissom agreed, "I'll get Sofia to run by and talk to the neighbor…"

"The neighbor's dead," Wendy interjected. "Mrs. Tassler was 74… lived alone. About a year ago, her daughter found her unconscious at the bottom of a flight of stairs. She died three days later without ever waking up. Henderson ruled her death an accident… but… the file indicates there was some question about the exact circumstances of the fall. I have to say…"

"… that seems a little too coincidental, especially given Keyser's nasty habit of killing anyone that gets in his way," Gris completed. "Sounds like we need to talk to the Henderson PD and take a look at both case files."

-----

"We've been through all of the pictures on Keyser's wall of horror and it looks like there are three victims we haven't found yet. We're saying three based on the assumption we just can't ID five of our known victims from the photos given the extent of their injuries… or he didn't put their pictures up with the rest for… hell, who knows why," Catherine reported, a shudder of distaste rippling along her spine. "We've been able to match the rest against the autopsy pictures and the stack of ID's."

"Who haven't you been able to match among our known victims?" Sam prompted.

"Susan Madden… Justine Olivetti, Valerie Davis… Leann Sullivan, and Rose Joyner. We did find Leann and Valerie's ID's in the box by the chair," the CSI replied. "They didn't survive long once he took them… may have been impulse grabs rather than ones he stalked. That might explain why he didn't have pictures of them… before. Rose is still a mystery… there's a lot we don't know about her."

"I'll run up to Henderson in the morning. Maybe we'll know more about her when I get back," Sofia interjected. "I left a message for Don Platner… told him that I wanted to see both her file and the one on the neighbor so he's have time to pull whatever they have."

"Can you stop by to give me an update when you get back… especially if they have additional pictures of her?" Catherine requested. "It would help to have something other than the rendering Teri did to compare to the pictures. The ones in the missing persons file aren't much help given the injuries her neighbor was documenting."

"We all need to know if the husband looks like a viable suspect," Jim instructed. "If the neighbor's death is even a little bit suspicious…"

"I'll call in as soon as I know anything," Sofia promised.

"Right. As for Justine and Susan… since they were prostitutes, Keyser may not have figured they rated a picture," Jim speculated. "Lucky West told me Sean has a real hate thing going for hookers… said that going off on the local working girls is about the only time he has anything to say."

"Fits what the girls I spoke with that survived a 'date' with him told me," Sofia mused. "They told me he seemed to get off on debasing them as much as the strangling."

"As for the others, it's probable we just haven't been able to match them to one of the pictures," Catherine continued, gingerly massaging her temples in hopes of easing the throbbing headache that had been building for hours. "Frankly, it's hard to tell the subjects were once a women, much less identify who they were. The level of violence is definitely escalating… fast."

"That fits the latest profile Kane and company gave me," Brass offered. "Phil said they think he's poised to go from controlled stalking to a random feeding frenzy if he stays in his current pattern… but they've been saying that for weeks now."

"Do they mean something different… like he'll start grabbing random women off the street… or do they think he'll just start killing anyone that crosses his path?" Sam demanded. "A little more detail from them might help."

"Connie's making copies of their latest profile… should have them to distribute before we finish here," the senior detective replied, "but, I've already hit the high point. They think, after 27 years of killing, he's no longer getting off on his tried and true… the reason the last couple of victims were in the condition we found them in. He's lashing out violently, tottering on a total melt down."

"Lovely," Grissom muttered. "Seems we have a lot to anticipate."

"Yeah," Brass agreed. "Anyway, the shrinks think he's fixated… obsessed with finding his killer orgasm… that or there's something specific that brought him to Vegas… something that's driving him. They think he won't leave the area until he accomplishes whatever goal he set for himself. Add in the recent events…"

"What does that mean?" Catherine demanded.

Pausing to sip his coffee, Jim noted, "We've been slowly piecing him together… his past… his father… we found the house, disrupted access to some of his stolen money… not to mention we've ID'ed some of his potential victims. None of that has ever happened to him… it's got to be getting to him. Frankly, it's anybody's guess what he'll do next."

An uncomfortable silence settled over the room in the wake of Brass's report. Joe Vartann finally broke the silence to offer, "Tom Keller is definitely in the wind. He hasn't come home in two days and was a no-show at work again last night. APB is out on him, but nothing so far. I've alerted the uniforms around the bus station and airport security in case he tries to skip town."

"This grainy work ID photo is the best we have on him?" Sam prompted. "I couldn't pick this guy out of a line-up with it in my hand to guide me."

"Yeah," Joe muttered. "I still can't believe I let him slip out…"

"Find him and all is forgiven," Brass ordered.

"Get us a warrant to get into his apartment and maybe we can find a print," Gil suggested. "From what you've found out about him, I'd hazard a guess he has a sheet which means a mug shot and a 10-card."

"I don't have grounds…"

"Get the owner of the gym to file assault charges for beating him up," Brass proposed. "That gives us grounds to get into the apartment and his locker at the gym."

Perking up, Joe nodded. "I may have to twist his arm a little, but… yeah, that should work. Guy's a total poser… big freaking wimp."

"Let me know once you get the warrant and I'll have someone meet you at his apartment," the CSI supervisor requested. "We should have an ID pretty quickly once we get a print."

"Any word on finding the last of our women?" Greg asked.

"Not yet. Her name is Pamela Willick of Boulder City… runs a hair salon in the same complex as the insurance agency where Angie Simmons worked," Jim replied. "I have patrols out looking for her. Nobody remembers seeing her for about a week. If I knew she was safe… We'll keep looking; hopefully she's under the radar, not missing."

"We can only hope," Gil agreed. "Based on the interviews with the other women, I've pulled together all the overlaps between their routines, including Casey's. I have a list of a few new places we need to check, but _Medicine Cabinet_ stores, the Arts District, and the area around _Celebration Centre_ seem to be the most common reoccurring threads."

"Is Casey one of several women he's stalking or is she the catalyst?" Jim asked.

"You mean is he stalking her and finding his other victims as they cross her path or is she just one of his fantasy women?" Gil responded. "My guess… and that's all it is at this point, is she's the central object of his fantasy."

"Object!" Jim sputtered. "How the hell can you…"

"They're all objects to him, Jim" Gil inserted, holding up his hand palm out to halt his friend's angry response. "To him, his victims aren't people, they're targets… prey to be stalked and killed. This isn't about Casey, the woman you know and love. This is about Casey being the unknowing target of his sick fantasy. You can't let your perspective of her become confused with his."

Brass's voice came out a low growl as he demanded, "Don't you think I already know that? I can…"

"I know you know," Gil interjected. "Knowing it and not being bothered by it are two separate things. Believe me… I know."

That simple comment cut through the anger and frustration fueling Brass's hostility. He had no trouble reading the lingering anguish that Grissom had endured during the long hours Sara had been missing, tortured by the possibility that she was already dead at the hands of another serial killer.

Slumping slightly, Jim nodded. "Yeah, you do. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking…"

"My point exactly," the senior CSI agreed, a slight smile taking the bit out of his comment. "As for Casey being the focus of his crimes… we have no way to be sure at this point. The other four led him to at least some of his victims."

"Based on…"

"Their daily patterns overlap, but none of them know each other or Casey," Catherine offered. "They frequent a lot of the same stores and restaurants… but they seem to go at different times of the week or day, so their paths don't cross… at least not with enough regularity that they know each other."

"OK… give the list of new places we need to check to Sam and he can coordinate a canvas of those areas," Jim proposed, as he shifted gears. "Sofia… what did you find out from Vice on the dive near Neon Moon?"

"They were familiar with it," she confirmed. "Apparently, Justine isn't the only working girl that's uses the bar to turn tricks. The owner looks the other way for a freebie here and there… nothing to suggest he's fronting for a cut… just your garden variety sleazebag."

"I've got the sketch based on West's description," Gil offered, passing around copies of the drawing. "No glasses… no ball cap, so this may be as close to what Keyser really looks like as we've gotten so far."

"He has a goatee?" Greg observed, looking up to meet Brass' gaze. "Nobody's mentioned that before have they?"

"The PI that looked for Rose Joyner said one of the people he talked to said the man in the van had a mustache," Sofia interjected. "Keyser seems to like to play with disguises, so who knows if the damned thing is real."

"At this point, we can only assume he has several 'looks'," Jim observed. "Gil… can you ask Tess to redraw this without the facial hair? I know it won't be as accurate, but… anything would help… I hope."

-----

"Mr. Stokes… this is Agent Coleman."

"Yeah, OK," Nick replied, shifting his phone to his other ear in hopes of blocking out some of the background noise in the lab. "You got something new for us?"

"Yes, we do," the FBI agent confirmed. "I just finished my interview with Fraiser Dorgstrum… the leader of the Minneapolis carjacking ring tied to the murder of the police officer in 1999. Dorgstrum's serving a life hitch at Great Lakes Correctional Facility on an unrelated murder."

"Right… you told me you were headed up there to talk to him the last time we spoke," Nick acknowledged. "Were you able to get anything useful out of him?"

"It took a little arm-twisting… but it turns out he knew one of the victims of the Strangler up in Minneapolis… a cousin. Apparently, they were close," Coleman reported. "Once it became personal, he gave me everything he had."

"So… he knows who killed the undercover cop?"

"Yeah… he knew him as Marty Lewis."

"Marty Lewis? Do you have anything on him?" Nick interjected, flipping to a clean sheet on his pad to begin taking notes.

"Not much… but we're still digging. He wasn't a regular booster for Dorgstrum's operation… more a freelancer that periodically showed up with a car to sell," the agent offered. "Dorgstrum knew they were hot, but he hadn't realized they were tied to the Lakeland Killer until we spoke."

"Did he know anything about this Marty Lewis?" Nick pressed.

"He said Lewis 'wasn't the chatty type', so he didn't know a lot about him," Coleman admitted. "Dorgstrum said he didn't like doing business with someone he didn't have anything on, so he got his brothers to follow him one night after he dropped off a car at his shop. Lewis dumped both men on his doorstep the next morning… he's worked them over pretty good. Told him the next time he tried sending someone to follow him, he'd mail them back in boxes… piece by piece."

"Damn, that takes a pretty big pair!" Nick exclaimed. "How did that go down?"

"Usually rant, but… looking beyond the bluster… Lewis scared the hell out of Dorgstrum… still does," Coleman speculated. "I could see it in his eyes."

"Anyway, he said his brothers managed to follow him as far as a gym where he seemed to be known before he found them," the agent continued. "I have the address and a sketch of the man he knew as Lewis… I'll email you a copy along with my full report once it's finished. I plan to pay the gym's owner a visit before I catch my flight back to St. Louis."

"OK. Anything else?"

"After Officer Franklin's murder, the police came down hard on Dorgstrum's crew, so he tried to find out who set them up to be the fall-guys," Coleman offered, "… thought it was a rival operation."

"And?"

"Franklin's bloody badge arrived in the mail a week after the murder with a note… 'I didn't have time to cut him into pieces, but this should make my point'," the agent recounted. "He ditched the badge and kept his mouth shut worried Lewis would make good on the threat to his family. His cousin… Kimberly Nylan, was killed later that year, but he didn't connect the dots until now. She worked for him… would have met Lewis when she paid him for the cars he jacked."

"OK… this confirms our theory Keyser is boosting cars and selling them," Nick summarized. "Was he able to give you anything else?"

"Just this… Lewis had some pretty nasty scars on the right side of his body… Dorgstrum said it looked like he'd been burned badly at some point. Since the skin grafts on his neck looked fresh, he figured whatever had caused it had been within a few years of their doing business," Coleman outlined. "Based on that… I've found the when and where."

"OK…"

His voice took on a smug tone as Coleman observed, "Daniel McMullen was injured in a fire at a rental house he owned in Tilden, Missouri… allegedly caused by a kerosene heater coming too close to some curtains. Two other men were in the house at the time of the accident… one of them died. McMullen's injures were so severe, he retired on disability and sold his gym. He and his wife moved to New Orleans after he was released."

"A man died in the fire? Do we have a name?" Nick pressed.

"No… he was listed as a homeless man that had been squatting in the house while it was temporarily empty," the FBI agent offered. "McMullen told the police he had taken a perspective renter to the house where they found the man using the heater to stay warm. A scuffle broke out… heater tilted and the curtains caught on fire. The fire department arrived in time to save both him and the renter, but the homeless man died… burned beyond recognition."

"Do we have a name on the renter?"

"Martin Wesley Lewis."

-----

"You don't think you're going to get away from me do you? Nobody ever has… no matter how far they run, where they hide. You're mine, so you might as well get ready… I'm coming for you."

"Who…?"

"Come on now, baby. Where are all those smarts people like to praise you for? You know me… I'm the man of your dreams… or maybe it's your nightmares. You look so sexy… helpless when you sleep. I love watching you… planning what our life together will be like."

"How…"

"The walls have eyes… I see all. You and your Knight can only hide so long. I'll wait as long as it takes to get you… make Capt. Lancelot regret the day he was born. The others… I'll get them too, but… they're just for fun… pretty little things to own and break. But you… you're mine and I plan to keep you. We'll grow old and grey together… you sitting like a well-trained slave at your master's feet. I just wanted you to know."

-----

As her cell phone went dead in her hands, Casey stared blindly ahead for several seconds as shock and terror robbed her of the ability to think… act. "Jim… JIM!!"

Surging to her feet, she ran blindly out of the bunkroom. "JIM!"

Strong arms wrapped around her waist as she narrowly missed colliding with the CSI's running toward her down the corridor. "Whoa… Casey? What's wrong?"

"Jim… I need to find Jim!" she cried, oblivious to the other lab personnel hovering nearby. "Nick… let me go! I need Jim!"

"OK… have you tried calling him?" Grissom asked, as he stepped in front of the struggling woman in hopes of getting her to focus. "If it's an emergency, maybe one of us can help."

"He called!"

Trading a look with Nick as the younger man eased his hold on the panicked woman, Gil pressed, "Who called? Jim?"

"NO. HE called… the Strangler!"

Stunned, Gil reached out to catch her shoulders in a firm hold. "Casey… what do you mean the Strangler called?"

"My cell phone… he called… said I was his and he'd… he'd wait as long as he had to get me!" Casey whispered, the terror clawing at her robbing her voice of strength. "I need Jim…"

"OK… we'll call him and get him over here, but you need to calm down," Gil soothed, giving Catherine a meaningful look. "Come on… let's go to my office so we can have a seat while we wait, OK? Catherine will call Jim for us."

"He said… he said I…" Casey whispered, breaking off as her fears swamped her senses.

Helping her into one of the guest chairs, Gil drew the other one closer so he could take her hands. "He said what, Casey?"

Haunted blue eyes finally focused on his. "He said… I was his. He said nobody ever got away from him… nobody has no matter where they hide."

Frowning, the CSI repeated, "'No matter where **they** hide'… that's what he said? They?"

Nodding, Casey's body slumped as it all crashed down on her. "He said… the others… he'd get them too… break them… play with them. We need to make sure they're safe! He's still after them!"

"OK… Jim's on his way here and we'll make sure no one can get to them. Where is your phone?" Catherine asked, as she settled on the edge of Gil's desk near the other woman. Laying a hand on her shoulder for support, she added, "Maybe we can get a fix on where he was when he made the call if we trace the last number."

"I think I dropped it… maybe on the bed or the floor near the bunk. I was reading and… How did he get my number?" she whispered.

"That's a very good question," Gil agreed, as Riley Adams disappeared down the hall to retrieve the cell phone. "We need to try and answer that. Is your cell number on your business card?"

"No. My card only has my office number," she replied. "I only give the number to people I know… and who need to have it. My staff knows not to give it out unless I OK it. Too many calls… it's disruptive and annoying."

"I agree. I'd ditch mine if I thought I could get away with it," Gil responded, forcing a smile to his face in hopes of keeping her calm. "So… who has it?"

"Well… friends, my staff… a few major clients, maybe a few of their staff… senior people with my firm," Casey recited. "I'm pretty selective about who gets it."

"I have your phone, Casey. I'll start running a trace on where the last call originated," Riley offered from the doorway. "And… it might be a good idea to warn the other women not to answer their phones, boss. If he knows Casey's number, he might know theirs too."

"We'll make a few calls… put out an alert," Grissom agreed, his focus remaining on the pale-faced woman beside him. "Make it a rush on the trace."

Scrunching her forehead, Casey whispered, "How can you trace a cell phone call? I didn't think you could once he hung-up."

A slight shrug preceded, "There all sorts of options for doing a lot of things most people don't think are possible. Companies out of India and the Far East came up with triangulation software… are able to offer tracking services to the general public for a hefty fee. Fortunately, we have access to the FBI's facilities so the trace should be finished pretty quickly."

A shaky sigh accompanied, "Big brother is watching."

"And listening," Gill agreed. "What else did he say?"

"He said… he said he watched me… that the walls have eyes," Casey murmured. "He watched… saw me sleeping. Oh God!! He watched me sleeping!!"

"Did you recognize his voice?" Catherine asked, a shiver rippling through her body at the thought of being watched by a monster, especially when she was asleep in her own bed.

"No… it sounded… weird… fake."

"Fake how?" the CSI pressed.

"Like it was… not quite human… flat, mechanical," Casey supplied. "It sounded… like he was one of those computer generated voices you hear on answering machines or recorded messages. The rhythm wasn't normal."

"OK… describe the rhythm," Gil instructed.

Pausing for a moment to consider his question, she finally offered, "The words didn't flow like someone talking normally… more like each word was being added individually to a string rather than spoken in the context of a sentence. The inflection was off… duh… duh… duh rather than duh duh duh. Does that make sense?"

"I think so. The voice sounded mechanical," the scientist responded. "The words didn't sound like he was simply using something to alter his own voice… he was using canned words he was putting together to reply?"

After a moment, she began to nod. "Yeah… like those early prerecorded messages."

"Do you think it was prerecorded?" Catherine interjected.

"Maybe… but…"

"But…"

"I tried to speak and… well, his responses seemed to fit," Casey replied, clearly racking her memory for the details of a conversation she'd like to be able to forget forever. "I didn't really manage to say more than… who or how, so I guess he could have anticipated those responses… planned for them."

"Makes sense," the other woman agreed. "I'll call Vega and ask him to warn the details watching the other women to intercept any calls he might make…"

"Too late. Apparently, he had it timed so they all got a call at the same time."

"Jim!"

Moving quickly to meet the woman surging toward him, Brass pulled Casey tightly to his chest. "It's OK, babe. You're safe here. He can't get to you."

"He wants to kill you! He's after you too!" she cried, her arms twining around his body in a frantic hold. "You can't go back out! He'll kill you!"

Trading a worried look with Catherine, Gil demanded, "What exactly did he say about Jim, Casey? You didn't tell us that part."

Clutching him tighter, she moaned, "He called Jim my Knight… Capt. Lancelot. He said we couldn't hide forever."

Frowning, Gil pressed, "Did he say he planned to kill Jim?"

"He said… he'd make him regret the day he was born," she whispered against Jim's throat.

"That could just mean he knows how much you mean to me, so harming you would be worse than anything he might do to me," Jim reasoned. "Did he actually say he planned to kill me?"

Jim felt her head shake no. "But… he said he didn't plan to kill me either. He said he plans to train me to be… a good little slave sitting at my master's feet… that we'd grow old and grey together."

"He said he plans to keep you?" Gil repeated. "But… he plans to kill the other women?"

Nodding against Brass's chest, Casey offered, "He said they were pretty things to own and… break. You're sure they're safe?"

"They're all safe," Jim promised. "I spoke to the officer in charge of their detail and he said they were all spooked by the calls, but fine. He can't get to them where we have them, so don't worry about that."

"He's right… we can't hide forever," she murmured. "Eventually…"

"…we'll get this son-of-a-bitch," Jim insisted, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "It's only a matter of time, OK?"

"I know," she acknowledged, "but…Gil says…"

When she didn't finish her thought, Jim asked, "Gil said what?"

Sighing as the comforting reality of his presence calmed her initial panic, she recalled, "He said you can trace the location of his call to get an idea of where he was when he made it."

"Yeah… so?"

Looking up to meet his gaze, she mused, "Well… he said there were companies in India and Asia that offered the same service. What if he was using those calls not just to scare us but to find out where you have us hidden?"

Startled by the question, Jim glanced over at his friend and colleague. "Does that play?"

"Yeah… yeah, it does," the scientist admitted. "Actually… it would be the easiest way with the least risk for him. We need to ask the Feds to see what they can turn up. Maybe they can use their post-911 surveillance network to shake something loose."

"Right… and I need to give Conrad a call so he can alert their hosts about this latest development," Brass completed. "It's highly doubtful Keyser can get to them given where they're housed, but I'm not assuming anything at this point."

-----

"Do we have an ID on the victim?"

Looking up to meet the CSI's bleak gaze, Brass shook his head. "Young female… early 20's would be my guess. Her face…"

"He's escalating fast," Nick observed when the senior detective fell uncharacteristically silent. "I'll get Wendy to run a DNA match against any women that have been reported missing in the last month that have red hair."

"Right." Brass gave himself a mental shake hoping to refocus on the crime scene rather than the broken body of the young woman draped across the sawhorse. The trace on the calls sent to Casey and the other women had led them to an abandoned construction site west of Vegas. The developer and builder had both declared bankruptcy as the economy had nosedived. Keyser had selected one of the twenty or so half-finished houses in the subdivision as his latest dump site… and to leave him a message.

Taking a deep breath, Jim continued. "It looks like he rigged a series of disposable cell phones to call the women… all of them linked to these cd players. I'm just guessing at this point, but the cd's probably contain prerecorded message for each woman synced to play when they answered their phone."

"And a second setup to allow him to capture whatever responses they might have made," Catherine added, crouching to study the equipment. "My guess is he used a flash drive to record the calls… all he had to do was push a button to activate the cells and retrieve the thumb once he was finished. The body was probably already in place… he just walked away assuming we'd trace the calls and find her."

"Yeah… that was my conclusion too," Brass agreed, furious to have once again been several steps behind the killer.

"What's that in her hands?" Grissom asked from his position near the body.

Blowing out a heavy breath, Brass admitted, "A message for me."

Looking up, the CSI charged, "You haven't touched the bod…"

"Do I look like a goddamned rookie?" Brass bit out. "Of course I haven't. I used the camera from my car to zoom in on the writing… took a picture… used my laptop so I could read it."

"Sorry. I know better than to have asked," Gil offered. "What does it say?"

"The bastard seems to find our nickname Keyser so amusing, he's decided to play along and give us a quote of his own," Brass supplied. "It reads… '_It was Keyser Soze, _Capt. Brass_… I mean the Devil himself. How do you shoot the Devil in the back? What if you miss?_'"

Swinging around to face Brass, Grissom demanded, "How the hell does he know about our calling him Keyser?"

"Good question… one I'd like to know the answer to myself."

-----

A/N --- Yes, another Verbal Kint quote from _The Usual Suspects_, though I replaced "_Agent Kujan" _with Capt. Brass… seemed more appropriate.

3-20-2010


	26. Chapter 26 A Spook Story

Title: By Design, Chapter 26

Author: Sorsha_711  
Fandom/Pairing: CSI; Brass/OCF  
Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations  
Disclaimer: A quick check of my bank account should prove I'm not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh! Anything you recognize belongs to the good people that bring us CSI.  
Summary: A serial killer is stalking the streets of Vegas… hell of a time for Brass to meet the woman of his dreams.

By Design, Chapter 26 --- A Spook Story

"_He becomes a myth, a spook story that criminals tell their kids at night._

'_Rat on your pop, and Keyser Soze will get you.'_

_And no-one ever really believes."_

_The Usual Suspect_

-----

"Brass… it's Griggs. Seven is our lucky number… as in Day 7."

"He's made the pickup?" Brass demanded, his grip on his phone tightening as a flood of adrenaline sent his pulse into overdrive.

"No," the other cop replied. "A teenaged male just picked up his mail at the mailbox store."

Surging to his feet, Brass demanded, "Describe him."

"Caucasian, maybe 15, 16, buzz-cut blond hair, approximately 5'6 to 5'7… black tee and jeans," Griggs replied. "He's on the 202… the route that runs along Flamingo."

"Is the tracking device you embedded in the stamp working?"

"Yeah, the microchip is sending out a clear signal, so following him shouldn't be a problem even if we loose sight of him. Looks like he's headed to the Strip," the cybercop reported. "Two of my plain-cloths officers are on the bus with him. So far he hasn't spoken to anyone… the mail's in a dark blue backpack in his lap."

"Where are you?"

"Catherine and I are following in a van a couple of blocks back. I have two cars in traffic next to the bus so I can flood the area with our people as soon as we see where he gets off the bus. If Keyser is worried we're on to him, he may be trying to use the crowds to hide… maybe blend into the masses until he's sure the kid isn't being followed," Griggs offered.

"OK… I'm on my…"

"You need to hang back on this, Jim," the Tech-cop urged, seeing his companion's emphatic nod of agreement. "No way he won't recognize you… you're the face of the investigation. If he gets any hints we're on to him, he'll disappear and we'll never know he was there. We're dealing with a spook, remember? Hell, we don't even know which of his looks to expect!"

"OK," Jim grudgingly agreed, "but have your backup units take position out of sight above and below the intersection of Flamingo and Las Vegas. We don't want them to tip him off. I'll send text alerts to the uniforms walking the Strip so they know what's up and don't do anything premature to screw this up."

--

"This is Griggs. The microchip on the mail is giving us a clear signal. Our target has left the bus at the intersection of Flamingo and Las Vegas… he's crossing at the pedestrian bridge toward Bally's. Lisowski… do you still have an eyeball on him?"

"Yeah… there's a young couple between us but I have him… he's ten, eleven feet in front of me," his lieutenant replied. "He's looking in the direction of the Flamingo, so he may be planning to head across the next bridge in that direction."

"Yoshida… you and Muller head toward the crossing and prepare to take over foot pursuit. We don't want to tip him off he's being followed so try to time it so you can fall into place behind him as naturally as possible. We have no idea where K may have positioned himself, so no sudden moves that might scare him off. Smooth and easy… this is Vegas, so… act like a tourist."

--

"I've lost him in the crowd. Do you see him Jenkins?"

"Got him. He's stopped to talk on his cell phone… to your left. Keep going and let Jack and Beth pick him up. He's heading up the stairs to the second bridge."

"Roger that."

"This is Muller. He's passing Bill's Gamblin' Hall. Jack and I are behind him."

"Does he still have the backpack, Beth?"

"Yeah, Captain. He has the strap over his left shoulder."

"Boehner… are you and Arcolla in the parking garage entrance to _Shea's_?"

"Yes, we're having a smoke so nobody is paying us any attention."

"Arcolla… start walking south toward the target. Boehner hold where you are until we know where he's headed."

"On it."

--

"He's turning into the plaza in front of _The Lucky Dragon_. I can't see him from my position… wait. He's talking a woman… long blond hair wearing a pale pink tank and jeans. He's giving her the backpack… she's passing his something. Who's close?" (A/N --- Yes, that _Lucky Dragon_, the scene of Brass's near-fatal encounter with Willie Cutler… not his favorite place in town.)

"Arcola here… I'm by the pretzel stand. Do you want us to follow the kid, cap?"

"Yeah, Beth and Jack stay with the backpack," Griggs ordered. "Arcolla… follow the kid several blocks before collaring him. Do it as discretely as possible, but we need to talk to him and see how he got the mailbox gig. I'll have an unmarked pick you up."

"Roger that."

"Ryan… are you and Berg still in your car?"

"Yeah, cap. We're in a service parking area near the southeastern casino entrance to the Lotus Room."

"Get inside in case they need to handoff pursuit," he instructed. "Be cool about it… until we know where K is, we don't want to tip our hand."

--

"I have the kid… mouthy brat."

"Take him to headquarters. Brass is there waiting… impatiently unless I miss my guess."

"Understood."

--

"Target's taken a seat at one of the blackjack tables. What do you want us to do, Cap?"

"Get a spot at another table where you can keep an eye on her… make sure she can't slip out… or pass the backpack to someone you can't see."

"Done… I'm at the table behind her position… Beth is headed toward the slots in front of where she's playing. Ryan and Berg are talking near the poker tables."

"Is she alone or are there other players at her table?"

"There's an older couple at the other end… Asian, not close to the physical description of K. Dealer's a woman. Target's pulled a stack of chips out of the backpack, so we may be in for a wait."

"Damn! OK, discretely scope the area… K may be looking for a tail before he makes contact. Look for anyone that fits the general description of our target… 6' to 6'1… 195… leftie with scars and physical impairment to the right side of his body… medium brown hair and pale green eyes. The last two can be easily altered, so don't key on them."

"I make… two… no, make that three possibles, Cap. One at the craps table… one by the bar pounding shots… and the third… at a roulette table, just visible through the archway into the next section of the casino."

"Copy that. Everybody hang loose and keep your eyes open. Where's the backpack?"

"She put it on the floor next to her seat after she got out the chips."

--

"Is she still playing?"

"Yeah… doing pretty well, but she's starting to look seriously pissed. We've been here what… three hours?"

"Just over. Ok..."

"Hold it, cap. Her phone's ringing. Maybe… yeah, she's cashing out and leaving, backpack over her left shoulder."

"Where is she headed?"

"Toward the northern entrance… the one where the taxis queue."

"Brillstein… are you and Thompson still covering that door?"

"We're here. Want us to follow her?"

"If she takes a cab. If she's walking, Lisowski will take over. FYI --- Liso's now wearing a dark blue polo."

"She's taking a cab, Cap… turning north on Las Vegas. We're on her."

--

Paul Brillstein's voice broke the tense silence. "She's getting out at Pikes… still has the backpack. I'm following her in."

"Is she meeting anyone?" Griggs demanded.

"There're a few people in the lobby… nobody looks promising. Target is passing straight through, heading for the elevators. Should I risk getting on with her?"

"No choice. We can't loose her so you're going on a ride along. Play it cool."

"Understood. Going silent."

-----

"What the hell happened?"

"Elevator stopped on four… gunman took out both Brillstein and the woman we were following with two shots, both to the heart," Catherine reported, turning to face Brass. "The doors of the elevator were blocked open with a housekeeping cart… probably a ploy to distract them long enough to get off clean shots before they could call for help. By the time Thompson got up here, they were dead and the shooter was gone."

Pointing back down the hall, she added, "We found two cleaning ladies hiding in rooms further down the corridor… they remember seeing a man walking toward the elevators a few minutes before the shooting, but can't really give us much. They both locked the door to the rooms they were cleaning and hid until we found them during a sweep. There were a few other people in their rooms, but nobody saw anything. Akers and Choi have them all corralled until you have a chance to talk to them."

"Shit!" Rubbing a frustrated hand over his mouth, Brass demanded, "At least tell me he took the envelope with the tracking chip?"

Shaking her head, the CSI pointed to the wisps of burned paper scattered on the floor of the elevator. "All the checks are gone, but the envelopes are still here… along with the backpack. Looks like he took the checks and burned the envelopes to obliterate the addresses… leave nothing to tie to him or the stolen goods."

"And nobody saw anything… anybody?"

Sighing, she concluded, "No… not a damned thing. Our spook has left the building."

-----

"She pushed the button for the 6th floor… so, when it opened on the 4th both passengers instinctively stepped back expecting another passenger… then to the side when the cart was pushed in effectively blocking them behind it," the casino-hotel's head of security detailed as he led them through the security video of the shooting. "The gun enters the frame… here. It was like shooting fish in a barrel. Neither one of them had time to duck or defend themselves."

"So I see," Brass muttered.

Nodding, the man pointed to the lower left corner of the screen. "Look… there. A figure in a dark blue hoodie leaned in and grabbed the backpack… the burning envelopes were tossed back in… there. Hoodie man reappears to grab her purse… never looked up so we didn't get a shot of his face."

"I wonder why he didn't take Brillstein's wallet?" Catherine mused.

"Most men carry their wallet in their back pockets," Jim offered. "The killer was moving too fast to take the time to pull our Jane Doe off of him and roll his body so he could reach it… cart was in the way too. Her purse was an easy grab, so he took it."

"Lucky for us he wasn't able to get it," she mused. "If he had, he'd have seen Brillstein's shield… known the drop was a setup. We still have a chance he may not have realized the checks are bogus and will try to cash them."

"Not holding my breath, but we need to send out a warning to banks and other check cashing places to be on the look out for those bogus checks," Jim observed. "I'll talk with the Sheriff about keeping the fact Brillstein was a policeman out of the press for now… otherwise, we loose any chance of Keyser trying to cash one."

"I hate that for his family, but… Paul would have understood the need and approved," Catherine mused, hoping to take some of the burden off of Brass by her comment. It was an unwritten rule that a fallen cop was treated with full honors… finding his killer immediately becoming the top priority of the entire force. Since Keyser was already their top priority, that tradition would still be honored. "If we miss a chance to find him because we didn't… his death has no meaning."

"Yeah… but meaning or not, he's still dead," Jim muttered. "I'll have some uniforms search the likely exits for her purse. I doubt he carried it out… probably took whatever he wanted and ditched the rest."

"Right," she agreed, as she turned back to the security guard. "Can you show us the footage from the corridor?"

The security guard gave a frustrated sigh. "Can't. The cameras on that floor have been out all day. Our maintenance crew tried to get them back up all afternoon, but… apparently, something shorted them all out. I was told they would have to be replaced. The feeds for each floor are all wired through the same lead, so we thought it was just a technical glitch until…"

"…you ended up with two dead bodies and no video to show us their killer," the detective concluded. "Great. We'll need a copy of the video of every door in and out of the complex… unless he knocked those out too."

-----

Brass paused in the doorway of the interrogation room and silently studied the teen slouched on the other side of the table. "I didn't do nothing, so you got no business…"

"I have two dead bodies in an elevator and their murderer is still out there," Brass countered. "You gave one of them a backpack…"

"Dead?" the teen repeated, his face blanching of all color. "My mom is dead?"

Mentally wincing that he hadn't thought to ask that question first, Brass dropped wearily into one of the chairs ringing the conference table. Guilt and exhaustion were dulling his instincts… still it was a rookie mistake and he felt like a Grade-A bastard. "Your mom was the lady in the pink tank top… the one you gave the backpack to?"

A faint nod was the only response he received. Jim made note of the tremors starting to shiver along the youth's skinny frame. "What's your name?"

"Did the cops shoot her?"

"No… we found her dead in an elevator at _Pike's Gambling Hall_ along with an undercover cop," Brass supplied. "It looks like they were surprised… never got a chance to run or defend themselves. I'm sorry about your mom… I really am, but I need your help if I'm going to find the man that killed her."

-----

"We have an ID on the woman in pink… Doreen Crosby," Nick announced as Brass walked into the lab. "Her prints were on record. She had a couple of busts for possession… a solicitation collar five years ago… nothing since."

"Yeah, the kid's her son, Tad," Jim supplied. "Apparently, his mom cleaned up her act… had been waiting tables at a diner over on Eastern for the last couple of years. A regular… old man that always wears a hat, offered her $75 if she picked up his mail and brought it to _The Lucky Dragon_."

"Didn't she think that was an awfully big payout for running a simple errand?" Catherine asked. "She had to know he was up to something."

"Tad says she felt sorry for the old guy… something's wrong with his right hand," Jim offered with a sigh.

"Keyser?"

"I'd put big money on it," he agreed. "Anyway, the kid says her benefactor told her he'd run up a gambling debt to some nasty people… had sold some of his late wife's stuff on _Ebay_ to pay it off, but was afraid to go pick it up himself since his bookie knew where he got his mail… said he was avoiding him until he had cash in hand. He left the backpack with the $75, the key to the mailbox, and a stack of chips for the LD at the diner along with a note telling her to have a little fun on him as a 'thank you' for keeping this between them… and that he may be a little late meeting her."

"I can see that playing… story's familiar enough and the old man seemed harmless," Nick mused. "$75 must have seemed worth the inconvenience for someone making minimum wage… plus an evening of prepaid fun. Yeah, that would have worked."

"How did the kid get involved?" Greg asked from his perch on the other side of the table.

"That was the one loose end in Keyser's plan," Jim observed. "Doreen was supposed to have the day off, but a friend asked her to cover for her a few hours at the diner, so she sent Tad. He took the bus to get the mail and met her in front of the casino. Mom took it from there… gave him the envelope with the money and went inside to meet 'Mr. Edwards'."

"Mr. Edwards?"

"Yeah… that was the name he gave her. Tad said several letters were addressed to a J. Connor Edwards… I'll follow-up on that name," Jim reported. "Anyway, Edwards started eating at the diner on a regular basis a few weeks ago. He spun Doreen a story about his wife dying of cancer, no family… yadda yadda. She felt sorry for him… and he was a good tipper, so she wanted to keep on his good side."

"Yeah, a waitress depends on her regulars to pay the bills," Catherine agreed. "We found her purse in a dumpster next to the employee entrance. Driver's license and the money were gone. Looks like that's all he took."

"Then, he probably meant to take this money too… this bastard is one mercenary son-of-a-bitch… he hasn't left a penny behind at any of his crime scenes." Passing the scientist a plastic evidence bag, Jim offered, "Plain white envelope… bills look new… a $50, a $20, and a $5."

"Why did Doreen give Tad the money?" Gil prompted.

Sighing, Jim explained, "He was supposed to use it to pay their Nevada Power bill… Bill's Gambling Hall takes payments. Then he was supposed to take the bus home… she promised not to be late… said she'd bring pizza as a treat."

"I'll see if I can trace the bills," Nick offered. "If they're new, we should be able to track the series number to a bank."

A tired nod accompanied, "Anything else in the backpack?"

Swiveling to pick up the item in question, Greg added, "It's new… I found an inspection slip in the front pocket… may help narrow down where it was made. Maybe we can get a lead on where it was sold. Other than that, it was empty."

"Mandy found a coupe of prints… mostly Doreen's and her son," he continued. "The others were too smudged to be of use except for one… Louis W. Dilworth. He's in the Armed Forces database… stationed at Nellis. Dilworth's 29, just got home from a tour of Iraq."

"Got an address on him? I'll send Sam over to talk to him," Brass asked, reaching out to take the printout the CSI extended in his direction.

"The bullets that killed Brillstein and the woman were fired from the same Berretta we've been looking for," Nick inserted, picking up the report. "Bobby Dawson's searching for recent purchases of the ammo it uses. He's looking at local stores as well as possible online purchases. May have something by tomorrow."

Leaning stiffly against the table to his right, Jim growled, "Damn it, I had expected to have the son-of-a-bitch in custody by now, not be waiting on evidence to process! Lockup or a slab over at the morgue… it was supposed to be over today!"

Nodding, Gil sympathized, "Yeah, I had the same expectation. Usually, all I want is the suspect in lockup, but… I wouldn't loose any sleep if he'd ended up in the morgue."

"We all feel that way," Greg admitted, "…not that any of us would kill him just to kill him."

"Let's be honest here," Catherine insisted. "Keyser finds himself in a corner and decides to fight… nobody will be looking to disarm him. We'll all be shooting to kill. He's killed over a hundred people, including one of our own… be like putting down a rabid dog."

"And whoever fires the shot will be treated like a hero," Nick added. "Hell, I'll sleep better knowing he'd never be able to hurt anyone else ever again."

"OK, people… we need to stop this right there," Jim ordered, rubbing his neck in an agitated manner. "Nobody would like to see him 6' under more than me, but… we need to remember we WILL take him alive if possible. That's the job. Besides, we need to try and get him to talk… maybe tell us where other victims of his are buried. We owe it to their families."

"He'll never talk," Greg muttered.

"Maybe not, but we take him alive anyway. A kill shot is only to save a life… got it?" Brass repeated. "We start deciding who lives and who dies… that's a dangerous and very slippery slope."

Letting his eyes rove the room to reinforce the policeman's edict, Gil asked, "Are we all clear on that or do I need to restrict you to the lab? We're CSI's not vigilantes."

Seeing shoulders around the room sag as their warnings sank in, Jim changed topics. "When will Brillstein's body be ready to release to his family? I promised his wife to make it as quick and painless as possible."

"You went with Bill to talk to her?" Catherine asked, temporarily distracted by concern over the man she had recently started seeing. He had taken the younger man's death hard… not that she would have expected otherwise. "How's she doing?"

Sighing, Jim admitted, "'Bout like you'd expect… young, brave, and devastated. They have a one-year old little girl."

"Damn!"

"Yeah," he agreed, the mental image of Tracy Bell haunting his thoughts… reminding him it had been a couple of weeks since his last call to check and see if they needed anything. "The post?"

"Robbins is posting him now," Gil supplied, understanding the guilt clouding his friend's eyes. "I'll call as soon as he's ready to go… home."

Finding he had nothing more to say, Brass nodded and turned to go back to work. Since Warrick Brown's death, they all knew 'I'm sorry for your loss' offered little in the way of comfort… to a grieving family or the officer offering the platitude.

-----

"Jim… it's Sam. Listen. I just spoke to Louis Dilworth. He said he bought his son a new backpack a week ago for a camping trip. They looked as several, so that's probably how his print ended up on the one recovered from Pikes."

"OK… where…"

"The Dempsey's on Sahara. They bought theirs Friday a week ago, so it would have been sold sometime after that," Sam inserted.

"He was sure of the date?"

An emphatic, "Very sure… the camping trip was the next day."

-----

"We've checked our surveillance footage for the time period you requested, Capt. Brass, focusing on the aisle where the backpacks are displayed," Bob Lenz, Dempsey's security chief reported. "We only sold two of that particular style of backpack during that time frame. Here are the pictures of both customers."

Nodding, Brass scanned the images. "What can you tell me about the man in this shot? Can we get a list of his purchases… maybe a credit card number?"

"He paid in cash… but I do have a printout of his sales receipt," Lenz offered, his smug smile clawing at Brass's nerves. "Based on the time of the transaction, I had our team check the security cameras in the parking lot. He walked through to the side street so we don't have a good shot of the car he was driving…"

"You have a shot of his car?" Brass interjected.

Nodding, the man handed him a second stack of pictures. "He got into a dark blue sedan parked on the street. The last picture shows it passing by the side of the store… it was a Honda Accord… 2004 model we believe. Unfortunately, we didn't have the correct angle to get more than a partial on the tag. The first letter is a G… we think Utah plates."

-----

"I have a possible on the tag," Nick announced. "I ran it for 2003 to 2006 models and got a hit on a 2003 dark blue Honda Accord. RO is James C. Edwards."

"C as in Connor?" Brass demanded. "I haven't been able to find anyone by that name living in the area. He's from Utah?'

"Looks like," the CSI confirmed. "I spoke with Deputy Mackey… he's that goofy guy Willard County sent to represent them on the task force after we linked Jackie Milley's body to the investigation. He's following up and will let us know what he finds out."

"I'll make a point of touching base… he didn't inspire a lot of confidence," Brass replied, disappointed not to have a local connection to the name. "Anything on the bills?"

"Yeah, the Fed in San Francisco sent them to local bank a few weeks ago," Nick supplied. "I spoke with the branch manager… Eve Walters, but she said they don't track the numbers once they go into the teller's drawers, just the amount of each denomination. The only thing that may help is the bank was the _Mesa Grande Savings and Loan_ on N. Las Vegas… four blocks from the _Celebration Centre_ site. A lot of their employees bank there according to Ms. Walters."

Perking up, Brass ordered, "Let's setup surveillance on the entrance and ATM. Maybe we'll get lucky."

Nodding, Nick added the assignment to his list. "Only other information I have for you is… Archie ran the picture from Dempseys against the other pictures we have of Keyser and the photo recognition software says it's the same man… for all the good that does us."

"Yeah. What we need is a clean shot of his real face, not another of his damned disguises," Brass complained.

Nodding in agreement, Nick concluded, "One thing about it may be significant. It looks like he's using prosthetic pieces to change his face. If that's the case, he could change his look at will… kind of reminds me of that case from a few years ago involving that mobster."

"Great… I'll alert the media our spook is the Ghost of Mickey Dunn. Keep me posted."

-----

3-24-2010


	27. Chapter 27 Eye for a Nye

Title: By Design, Chapter 25

Author: Sorsha_711  
Fandom/Pairing: CSI; Brass/OCF  
Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations  
Disclaimer: A quick check of my bank account should prove I'm not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh! Anything you recognize belongs to the good people that bring us CSI.  
Summary: A serial killer is stalking the streets of Vegas… hell of a time for Brass to meet the woman of his dreams.

By Design, Chapter 26 --- Eye for a Nye

-----

Brass began to speak before Grissom finished answering his phone. "The manager of the market where Casey shops spotted a man he thinks may be the one in her first sketch… the one she saw at the store near my house. Store security detained him… a patrol car just brought him in for questioning. Casey picked his picture out of a six-pack."

"Do we have a name?"

"Yeah… Clarke Michaels, 45 according to his sheet."

"He has priors?"

"Yeah… a possession charge 7 years ago in Dallas. He got probation," the detective supplied. "Two years later, he got swept up in an undercover drug operation… possession with intent. Michaels skipped town before he could be tried. Texas has a fugitive arrest warrant out for him. Based on that, I had the patrol pat him down… they found several packets of coke in his pocket."

"So we can hold him on possession while we look into the rest," Grissom noted. "You know… we don't have anything to suggest Keyser deals drugs."

"No, but we would have said the same thing about explosives until we found Cobalt Lane. Anyway, the timeline fits," Brass argued. "Houston is close to one of the body dumps from the Gulf Coast killings… he was there when we can place Keyser in the area."

"There is that. I'll meet you in interrogation in 15 minutes."

"Right," Jim agreed. "I'll give Narco a call and see if they have this guy on their radar… touch base with Houston and get the full story on their bust. With what he was holding, I'll get you a warrant to search his car and home… maybe find something to tie him to the killings. Can you send…"

-----

Sofia and her uniformed shadow paused in the main lobby of the Henderson Police Department and looked around. Hearing her name called by someone to her right, she turned and smiled in greeting to her counterpart. "Hi Don. How have you been?"

"Not bad… busy, but nothing like you guys," Detective Don Platner offered, giving her hand a firm shake. "I hear you solved one of our missing person cases… not how we were hoping, but pretty much how we expected."

"Yeah… Lincoln County found the body seventeen months ago, but couldn't make an ID," she supplied. "The remains were in bad shape… out in the desert too long for an easy ID."

"Fits our theory… husband killed her and dumped the body," Platner responded. "If Lincoln found her, how'd you guys end up on the case?"

"We've been looking at any Jane Doe in the region for links to the Strangler," she offered with a weary sigh.

Nodding his understanding, her host continued, "Yeah, that case just keeps spiraling doesn't it?"

"And then some."

"How did you make the match?" Platner questioned.

A frown accompanied, "It wasn't easy. The lab had a hard time finding usable DNA from the body to compare to the blood sample you guys collected. Based on a tip, we matched to DNA recovered from hair left in a brush left by a woman that disappeared from a domestic abuse shelter to Rose's. Our ME then compared the photos of her tattoos to the ones on the remains and got a solid match. Add in a partial DNA to the incomplete sequence recovered from a tooth… Robbins is comfortable we have a solid ID."

"Right. Come on back to my office and we'll run through the file on Rose's disappearance," Platner invited. "We liked her husband for it but… no body and not much in the way of forensics, meant no case."

Looking over at Andy Akers, Sofia suggested, "Why don't you grab a cup of coffee while I dig through files? You might as well be comfortable while I talk to Don."

Watching the younger man disappear down the hall, Platner asked, "Since when did you have a wing man?"

Sighing, she admitted, "Brass's orders. Until we apprehend the Strangler, none of us gets to go sole… especially any female that he might associate with the case and decide to target. Pain in the ass… but Brass made it mandatory for everybody, so at least I got a good laugh out of the look on Vartann's face."

Taking a seat across the desk from the other detective a few minutes later, Sofia asked, "Were you able to tie down the date when Rose went missing?"

"Her next-door neighbor filed a missing person's report October 27, 2007. She'd been missing about a week at that point," he replied. "We tried to get her husband to cooperate… let us search their house, but he refused. By the time we got a warrant to get inside, he had moved back to Texas… but not before he painted and steam cleaned everything… new carpet along with new underlayment and floorboards, new sheetrock, the works. We found a few drops of blood in the bathroom and in the kitchen, but not enough to support a murder charge."

"What did he say had happened to his wife?"

"Eric Joyner is a real son-of-a-bitch. He claimed she had left him… ran off while he was out," Platner reported, the frustrated tone of his voice betraying his lingering anger at the man. "We'd responded to multiple noise and domestic violence complaints from the neighbors in the years prior to her disappearance… took Rose to the hospital twice, but she refused to file charges. She was terrified of him… what he'd do when he got out. Even with their history, our prosecutor said we didn't have enough to go after him for her murder… said the defense would argue the blood could have gotten there from routine household accidents. We all knew he killed her, but…"

"He may have been telling you the truth. I guess I wasn't clear… we've tied Rose's case to the Strangler investigation," Sofia responded. "If Joyner did kill her, he's one of the most prolific serial killers in history."

Sputtering on a sip of coffee, Platner fixed her with a surprised stare. "I thought… I mean I figured the case had been dumped in your lap after you made an ID, not that it was tied to… You're sure Rose was killed by that bastard? I mean… it's a pretty big coincidence that she takes off from an abusive husband and falls into his hands."

"Yeah, it is… but a solid forensic link ties her to the other cases," she replied.

Frowning, the Henderson detective asked, "How about running me through the details of how you found…"

-----

"Armando Garzon sends his regards," Brass offered as he watched the man slumped across from him at the interrogation room conference table for any weakness. "Seems we netted ourselves a prized little fishy. He told me he'd be here tomorrow. He wants you bad."

"Fuck you."

"Sorry… you're not my type," Brass replied. "On the bright side… where you're going you should be able to find a few takers that will find you quite fetching. Hope you like that end of the equation… you know, the takers."

An amused smirk hid the nervous tension churning his gut as Jim added, "Of course I warned your old buddy Manny that we had you with serious weight so we may decide to keep you. Our people are busily tearing your house apart as we speak so we may have more to add to those charges by the time he gets here… what do you think?"

"I got nothing to say, so don't waste your time trying to play me," the younger man growled.

"Fair enough," Jim agreed, leaning back in his chair as he laced his hands behind his head. "We can talk about other things while we wait to hear from them… things like… do you eat your _Wheaties_, Clarke?"

The defendant's green eyes clouded momentarily as he tried to make sense of the question… anticipate the trap the detective was trying to set for him. "I don't…"

"I mean… it's obvious you like to workout… take care of yourself," Brass observed in a bland tone of voice. "I just figured you must like to eat healthy."

"Yeah… so?"

"OK… that explains it."

Frowning, Michaels studied the cop for hints of his intent. Unable to resist… even though he knew he should, he demanded, "Explains what?"

"Why you frequent grocery stores all over the Valley," Brass supplied. "Me… I only go to the _Pendales_ near my place… convenient, decent selection… good prices. What more could a man want, right?"

"Right," Jim completed, the predatory gleam in his eyes at odds with the practiced cheery tone of his voice. "My fiancé, on the other hand, tends to go to those fancy, overpriced yuppie-chow places… you know the kind, the ones with a social philosophy. I'd rather save my money and make a donation to the Sierra Club than play their prices."

"So?"

"Just commenting. I find it interesting is all."

Sneering, Michaels demanded, "Find what interesting?"

"That you like to play the field… spread the wealth… _Nathans_ tonight… _Pendales_ in Henderson a few weeks back. A little variety to add some spice to the dull business of grocery shopping," Jim praised.

Rearing forward suddenly in his seat, Jim pinned the man with a hard stare, one that made Michaels flinch. "Or did the quality of the groceries have nothing to do with it? Did you just get sloppy… let your prey catch you stalking her? Maybe the need you were feeding wasn't found on the shelves but the aisles… fresh meat on two legs."

"What the hell…"

"You screwed up bad, Clarke… or do you prefer Sean?"

"Who the hell is Sean?" Michaels exclaimed. "I don't know anybody named Sean."

"The interesting thing is… you were in Houston seven years ago when women's bodies were being dumped all across the Gulf Coast region," Brass observed. "Now you show up in Vegas around the time we start finding bodies dumped on backroads out in the desert."

"I…"

Ignoring his prisoner's attempt to respond, Jim continued. "Add to that, we have a witness… someone we know is being stalked by their killer, and she places you in stores in Vegas and Henderson at the same time she was there. Put it all together… the coincidences are starting to pile up. What else can…"

"What the hell are you talking about?" the younger man shouted. "I never killed nobody… much less dumped a body. Shit! You think I'm that Strangler fuck… the one all over the news! No way, man… no way!"

"I've just started to dig into your past, Clarke… so you prefer Clarke?" Jim taunted. "I guess you do since you didn't bother to come up with a new name to front your drug related endeavors here in Vegas. Anyway, I've just started to dig and I already have several connect…"

"**DAMN IT**… I ain't no killer!" Michaels exclaimed. "OK, I'll cop to dealing a little coke, but… I never killed no one, man. You got to believe me!"

"Convince me," Brass offered. "How long did you live in Houston?"

"I was born and raised there!" his suspect insisted. "I moved back after I finished my 20 in the Marines."

"You were in the Marines?" Jim pressed, inwardly frowning at this news. "Nothing about that in your jacket."

Sighing, Michaels admitted, "I didn't exactly enlist under my own name. I was too young, so I used my brother's birth certificate."

"And he didn't object?"

"He died… car wreck with my parents when I was eight," Michaels admitted. "I wanted out of foster care, so I pretended to be Dan and enlisted. Honest man… I did 20, mostly in Europe and the Middle East. I finished out my time at Camp Pendleton in California nine years ago. Check! My prints are on file with the Marines as Daniel Jacob Michaels!"

Holding the younger man's gaze in a stranglehold, Brass finally offered, "I'd suggest you open wide and let my colleague take a DNA sample while I check out your story. The faster you get out of my sight the better you'll like life."

-----

"… kept the few items Rose left behind when she disappeared hoping she's turn-up and want them. That's where we got a hair sample for DNA testing," Sofia summarized. "Rose lived there for a few weeks last year using the name Sue."

"Damn!"

Sliding a photo across the desk, she added, "This locket was among her effects. Is there any way to determine if it matches the one you listed in the missing persons report?"

"Yeah… we have a picture the neighbor took documenting her injuries the night she called the police. Mrs. Tassler remembered trying to take it off so she could clean the wounds on Rose's neck," he supplied, pulling out a picture from the file in front of him. "It's pretty distinctive."

"Yeah, it is," Sofia agreed as she compared the images. "It looks like the same necklace to me, but I'll have someone in our lab do a point by point comparison to be sure. Can I get a copy of this picture?"

"Sure. I'll get it scanned and email you a copy."

Fixing the other policeman with an unwavering gaze, Sofia asked, "So… what can you tell me about Eric Joyner?"

-----

Waving his hand to try and gain the attention of the man walking by in the corridor, David Hodges sprang to his feet and sprinted to fall into stride next to Grissom. Handing him a file, the lab tech offered, "I finally got a list of the companies involved in the trials of the wood preservative found on a couple of the Strangler's victims."

"And?"

"Only one has a Vegas office… Greenley Construction."

Coming to an abrupt halt, Grissom demanded, "Greenley? You're sure?"

"Yeah… I double checked," Hodges confirmed. "Greenley has approval to use it at…"

"_Celebration Centre_," Gil supplied.

"Yeah… the only site west of the Rockies included in the trials… part of their green building initiative."

-----

Shifting in hopes of finding a more comfortable position, Casey looked up to see who had joined her in the CSI breakroom. "Hi Gil. I hope you don't mind me making myself to home in here. The walls were closing in on me in the bunkroom."

A tired smile preceded, "You're more than welcome to hang out in here. The labs are restricted, but the common areas are fine."

"Thanks. Jim said he thought it would be OK, so I took a chance," she responded. "He showed me the kitchen near the EOC, so I cooked us dinner after he got a few hours sleep. If you're hungry, there's fried chicken and potato salad in the frig… and sliced tomatoes on the plate under the foil."

A flare of interest lit his blue eyes as Gil turned in the direction of the refrigerator. "I didn't have time to grab anything for supper before I reported in. I was going to call for takeout. If you're sure there's enough…"

"Plenty," she reassured. "I made a lot extra in case anybody else wanted some. The green beans are all gone… Jim took plates with him for his crew, but help yourself to the rest… tell any of the others that might be hungry."

A smirk accompanied, "Let me get mine first. If we tell Greg and Nick… locusts have nothing on them."

"I'll make it a point to cook extra from now on then," she offered. "It would feel good to have something productive to do to keep myself busy."

Nodding, Gil prompted, "If you do, please let me know before they get to it. This chicken is delicious."

"My grandfather's recipe… nobody made chicken like Pops." He had no trouble recognizing the relief that his response engendered. Having something to do that aided the investigation was just what she needed. "How many should I plan to cook for? I don't want to make too much…"

A voice behind her interjected, "Is that fried chicken…?"

Shaking his head as he watched the younger CSI's pounce and begin to help themselves, Gil sighed, "Too much is never a problem around here. I did mention Greg and Nick didn't I?"

"Hey…"

-----

Sighing, Gil looked up to meet Brass's gaze as the detective dropped into the chair across from him. "Michaels isn't our man… no match to his DNA. His prints do, however, match prints on record for Staff Sgt. Daniel J. Michaels, USMC retired."

"Yeah… I was expecting that," Brass admitted, rolling his neck in hopes of easing the tense muscles. "I'll hand him over to Narco. They're psyched about the possibility he's tied to a couple of suppliers they're after. Houston hopes for the same, so I'll let them fight it out."

"Marines may want a bite out of him too," Grissom speculated. "At a minimum, he's lost his pension."

"Poor baby."

Nodding, the CSI observed, "One door closes…"

"Only door I want to open is the one to the cell where Keyser can spend the last of his miserable life until they stick a needle in his arm," Brass finished, pushed back to his feet to return to work. "At this rate, we may solve half the open cases on the LVPD books before we get him."

-----

"Jim… Sofia. I spent the last couple of hours digging through case files here in Henderson," the junior detective reported, tucking her cell phone a little closer to her ear as she pulled the keys to her car from her pocket.

"Yeah, Don and I went through the files on both Rose Joyner and Susan Tassler," she offered. "Joyner's a mean son-of-a-bitch, a wife-beater, but nothing in his file suggests he's our killer."

"No, the crew at _Celebration Centre_ found Rose on August 21," she supplied in response to his question. "Her neighbor reported her missing on the 27th. Joyner told HPD she left him while he was out of town on business… nothing to suggest he ever found her or that she came back."

"No, they moved to Henderson three years ago from Texas," Sofia reported. "Joyner's a controlling bastard that isolated her… she never left the house except with him."

"Yeah, the timing of their move to the area is right… Port Arthur is on the Gulf, south of I-10… straight shot to New Orleans."

"I can't. He sold his house and moved back to Texas… Austin," she replied. "Henderson searched the house from top to bottom before the new owner moved in… turned up a few blood spots in the bath and kitchen, places where it's pretty easy to explain it away. Joyner had gutted and rebuilt most of the interior… probably afraid they'd find evidence of ongoing abuse and use it to make a case against him for her disappearance."

Pausing on the sidewalk near her car, she supplied, "He's a video game designer… works from home. The week she disappeared, he was out of town… conference or something in Atlanta. I got copies of both files… included receipts and boarding passes for the trip."

"No, Mrs. Tassler died a few months later," Sofia replied, unlocking the doors so Akers could climb in. "Don says they gave her death a pretty hard look… a few of the details didn't seem quite right, but nothing conclusive popped to suggest it was anything more than a tragic accident. She was pretty well-known around town… very well liked, so it got a lot of attention. I requested copies of the files so Gil can look them over for anything I missed."

"Yeah, hold on. I have the name… _Metalworks_. Their main office is in Fort Collins, Colorado. The number's 970-555-7602," she recited. "They sell video games for most of the major systems… pretty sophisticated stuff apparently. I have a list of the games Joyner designed if you want to check them out. Frankly, I'm of the opinion Rose ran from her abuser straight into the arms of a monster."

Opening the door of her car, Sofia slid behind the wheel. "Yeah, from what Don told me, Joyner was a loner with a nasty attitude… thought he was smarter than everybody else. After Rose's disappearance, people avoided him like the plague. He told the real estate agent that was why he was moving… that he was being unfairly persecuted for his wife being an 'irresponsible, flighty bitch'. Real sweetheart."

"Yeah, my heart bleeds," she agreed. "Don says the rumors around town were that Joyner started trolling the bars in Vegas hoping to score within weeks of her disappearance."

"Maybe," she hedged. "He heard Joyner got picked up for roughing up a pro last year… didn't remember the name of the bar. I'll see if I can find an incident report. Looks like he's a non-starter, but I still need to follow up and make sure of the facts."

"Yeah," Sofia confirmed. "I asked Don to email you a copy of the most recent picture they had on him along with a copy of a picture that shows the necklace listed on their report. Can you get someone at the lab to compare it to the one we recovered from _CASA_?"

"Will do. Here's the Texas address they had on him. You might want to ask Austin PD to pay him a visit… let him know we found his wife's remains."

"Yeah… and it might be a good idea to see if he knows anything that might help us," Sofia prompted. "Oh… and you can expect a call from Henderson about joining the task force. Their chief wants in."

"Yeah, I know Joyner's in the clear if he moved back to Texas, but, if he was trolling bars picking up hookers before he left, he could have crossed paths with Keyser… birds of a feather," she reasoned. "That might explain why Keyser went after Rose. She left his buddy high and dry… brought down the police on his head, so he tracked her down and made her pay. If Joyner knew, he might have run back to Texas hoping to avoid ending up in a grave next to his wife. Just a theory… who knows at this point."

-----

"Jim… the Nye County Sheriff's office just called. They want us to meet them at this location north of Pahrump. They say they've found where Woods lives."

Turning to watch Nick Stokes jog down the hall in their direction, Brass asked, "Did they find **him**?"

"No… but, they found what looks like a grave on the property near the house," the CSI responded, handing the detective a slip of paper and a map. "They're waiting on us before they proceed."

"OK… let's roll," Brass agreed.

Looking over at the men at his side, he asked, "You coming Bill… Conrad?"

Frowning, the Sheriff reminded his captain, "We have a news briefing scheduled at nine… which is less than an hour from now."

"Shit," Jim muttered. "I…"

"Go," Burdick ordered, "we'll handle it. Until we know more, I don't want the press speculating why we cancelled the daily on short notice. I don't want them to get ahead of the investigation… maybe compromise a lead."

Turning to follow Nick, Brass agreed. "Right. I'll let you know what we find as soon as we know something."

"Call in as soon as you know **anything**. This could be the break we've been looking for."

-----

Spotting the Nye County Sheriff talking to a group of his deputies, Jim quickly made his way toward the tall, heavy-set man. "Sheriff… you said you've found a grave?"

Turning to greet the representatives of the Strangler task force, Cyrus Wright nodded. "Yeah. Took us a while to find this place… it's still listed in the name of Paul and Francis Nichols."

"Who are they?" Nick asked.

"Small time ranchers, barely scraped by most years. Hardcore atheists… tended to keep to themselves. Not too many friends… too outspoken about their views. Most people had forgotten about them… forgotten about this place too," Wright replied. "Its way off the beaten path as you no doubt noticed on your drive over."

"Yeah. So… how are they tied to Woods?" Brass pressed, hoping to move things along.

Fixing the detective with a hard glare to silently remind him 'his county… his dime', Wright offered, "Both Paul and Fran have been dead for over ten years… left everything they had to their only surviving child, Pauline. She died of cancer about five years ago without ever probating their estate. From what we've pieced together, Woods was her husband."

Nodding, Brass ran a stiff hand across his neck. The heat of the day was already building and a thin film of sweat coated his hand. "So… you think Woods is the body in the grave?"

"Possible I guess, but too soon to say," the Sheriff replied. "Couple of years ago, he told a few people in town he was moving here… hasn't been seen since. No family in the area… nobody seems to have been looking for him until we started nosing around."

Sighing, Wright concluded, "Several of my men did a quick search of the area… found what looks to be an unmarked grave… maybe more than one, back of the barn. We were waiting on you before we looked around any more."

"You're sure it's a human grave?" Nick interjected, screening his eyes with his hand to scan the scrubby landscape. An old, dilapidated farmhouse stood to their right, the front porch sagging under the weight of a bad roof. A barn and a few other outbuildings dotted the terrain, their condition no better than the house. "Behind the barn… could be a horse or a dog buried there."

"Could be," the other man agreed, "but it looks like a grave to me… and size seems about right for a man. Too small for a horse… big-ass mother if it was a dog."

Nodding, Brass urged. "OK… let's see what we've got?"

-----

Crouching nearby, Jim asked, "Can you tell if this is a homicide?"

"Body was dumped in the grave face first… looks like a bullet hole behind the right ear, so nothing natural about this," Roy Larimore, the Nye County Coroner, supplied. "Quick review of the skeleton… the victim was male… age undetermined at this point. Judging by the condition of the bones… I'm still getting a faint whiff of decomp… my prelim is the body's been here between two and three years."

Nodding, Nick proposed, "Whatever we can provide to help your…"

"Since your people are up to speed on the forensics of this case, the Sheriff and I would prefer having your coroner do the cut… and CSI process the scene," Larimore inserted. "Better to not miss something the first time than have to go back and find it after the fact."

"I called Burdick and he's agreed," Wright added from his position on the other side of the open grave. "Bill asked me to tell you additional personnel are in route to assist you two."

Nodding, Jim asked, "Beyond the grave, what else have you found?"

"Ah… now, that's the interesting part," Wright began. "Old man Nichols was always ranting about nuclear war… or bombs from one of the military bases in the area going off. He'd never confirm it, but rumors circulated for years he'd built a fallout shelter into the side of one of these hills."

"A bomb shelter?" Nick repeated. "Any idea of where it is?"

Nodding, the Sheriff offered, "Nichols originally bought this land hoping to strike it rich mining for gold… dug shafts all over the place. I'd put good money on his building that outhouse over one of them before fixing himself up a shelter underneath… too far away from the house otherwise. It would be just like that old bastard to hide it in plain sight… probably thought it was funny to use a privy for cover against 'the commies and the red menace'."

"Does your search warrant cover it?" Jim asked, instinct telling him they'd found Keyser's chamber of horrors.

"Nothing that specific… just a general search to look for Woods. But, the Judge is waiting by the phone," Wright replied. "I'll have us one in under an hour so we can tear this goddamned place apart."

-----

Catherine felt her sense of unease ramp up to maximum as one of the deputies that had accompanied Brass down the stairs into the shelter bolted past her to empty his stomach in the grass near the back of the outhouse. The call 'Code 4' from below failed to calm her nerves. The sight of the veteran policeman stepping back into the stairwell sent them reeling… his ghostly white features conveying the horror he was feeling more keenly than words. Brass seemed to be struggling to take a deep enough breathe to clear his lungs of the smell of death that swelled out of the concrete chamber.

"We've found where he's been keeping them… killing them," the homicide captain quietly reported. "I need to warn you… its bad… as bad as anything I've ever seen. You need… to prepare yourselves."

Catherine traded uneasy looks with her fellow CSI's. Mentally gearing up to enter a crime scene… especially one that reeked of decomp, was never easy. They all depended on the stoic masks of their colleagues to help keep their focus and allow them to maintain their own facades… keep their emotions in check. Seeing the other two deputies appear, their backs to the interior of the bunker as they sagged weakly against the door frame, did nothing to help them ready themselves for what lay beneath.

Gil's voice sound unnaturally stiff as he asked, "OK. Are you ready for us…"

Brass shook his head. "Tell the Sheriff we have other bodies. Ask if he wants Nye's coroner or David to make the declarations."

"Other bodies? How many"

"Three… and… I think we've found Pamela Willick… just not in time to save her," he replied, turning his face so they couldn't see the guilt consuming him. "I have no idea who the other two women are. One looks… she's been down there a while."

-----

3-27-2010


	28. Chapter 28 The Gods Grow Angry

Title: By Design, Chapter 28

Author: Sorsha_711  
Fandom/Pairing: CSI; Brass/OCF  
Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations  
Disclaimer: A quick check of my bank account should prove I'm not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh! Anything you recognize belongs to the good people that bring us CSI.  
Summary: A serial killer is stalking the streets of Vegas… hell of a time for Brass to meet the woman of his dreams.

By Design, Chapter 28 --- The Gods Grow Angry

"_The gods grow angry with your patience._

_'Tis their care, and must be yours, that guilty men escape not._

_As crimes do grow, justice should rouse itself."_

_Ben Johnson_

-----

The sound of helicopters echoed off the dry, dusty hills of the abandoned ranch. Using his hand to shield his eyes against the glare of the sun, Jim frowned as he watched one news copter barely avoid colliding with another as they jockeyed for a better shot of the unfolding investigation. "Damned idiots! We have enough bodies to scoop off this hillside without them adding to the count!"

Ecklie traded a look with Burdick. Neither had made the trip down the stairs to view the Strangler's torture chamber. Seeing the haggard faces of those that had made the decision to put it off a little longer an easy one to make. "How did they find out about the ranch?"

Muttering about the stupidity of the 'air jockeys' dueling for supremacy over his head, Jim growled, "They showed up not long after we got here. I didn't see anyone on our tail driving over, so… they either followed our people or someone at the PD has a big mouth."

"How many graves have you found so far?" Conrad asked, making a mental note to find out if they had a leak.

"Five… body count stands at eight so far," Brass replied, his gaze still fixed on the helicopters. "I have several squads of cadets sweeping the outlying areas… teams with cadaver dogs searching the abandoned mine shafts in case there are more out there, so that number may go up. We'll be out here for a while."

Taking a long sip from a bottle of water, he added, "The graves we've found are all clustered near the barn. All of the victims appear to have been shot… behind the right ear based on field examination of the entry wounds. Prelim TOD on the one that's been out here the longest appears to be around three years… fits with the last known sighting of Woods. Of course, that's based on a smell test, so who the hell knows for sure at this point."

"Smell test?" Burdick repeated, a confused frown accompanying the question.

"Yeah… as I understand it, bodies that have been in the ground less than three years still smell of decomp… stronger the smell, the shorter the time they've been 6' under," Brass supplied, the memory of a conversation he'd had with Grissom over the top of another unmarked grave replaying in his mind. "If it smells like dirt… it's been in the ground longer. Body's only giving off a faint whiff, so around three years… course, that's just prelim."

"Yeah, I'm hoping for something a little more… scientific before we make that official," his boss agreed.

"Up to Robbins… smell test's something to get us started, but hardly conclusive," Jim agreed. "Anyway… one of the bodies looks like he's been in the ground for only a month, six weeks maybe. All fits with Keyser's known timeline for the Vegas area."

"He?"

"Yeah," Brass confirmed, "all of the bodies in the graves were male."

Hesitating for several seconds, Conrad asked, "And the ones in the bunker?"

"Welcome to my web said the spider to the fly," Jim muttered, his tone conveying the rage he was barely controlling. "All women… pending autopsies, it looks like they were all tortured and strangled like the other Strangler victims... and the violence, the savagery of the torture is escalating fast."

"You're sure we've found the sixth woman… Pamela Willick?" Burdick questioned. "If it's as bad…"

"I'm as sure as I can be. Pam had a tattoo of an ankh on her right ankle. The DB strapped to the table has the same tatt in the same place. Pending DNA, it's the only way to ID her," Brass growled. "We had her name and still couldn't protect her!"

"She's been missing since before you found the Cobalt Lane house, Jim," the Sheriff noted, understanding his captain's mood. He was feeling much the same… these women had died on his watch and he wanted their killer's head. "Until then, we didn't have her name, so you had no way of protecting her beyond the increased patrols and the warnings through the media."

"Other than finding the sick son-of-a-bitch before he grabbed her," the homicide detective muttered, "… or looked out the back window of our bedroom…"

"And seen what exactly?" Burdick demanded. "Assuming he was careless enough to let you see him… which I find highly doubtful, how the hell were you supposed to realize an elderly man with white hair… using a cane was Keyser?"

Pausing to see if his words were having any effect, he added, "And don't dismiss the fact that YOU found that house. You made some critical connections finding those cameras… the house. Until then, all we had was tall, 40's, thick glasses. Five women are in protective custody because of that."

"Hell, I've been a cop too long to have missed someone watching... I was too besotted…"

"You need to stop before you say something really stupid," the Sheriff advised. "This isn't on Casey…"

"I know that, damnit!" Brass bit out. "This is on me. You need to assign someone else to head up this investigation… someone that's not a total fuck-up!"

"Frankly, anyone I assigned the job would probably quit before I finished making the announcement," Burdick observed. "Fuck-up or not, you're stuck with it."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Brass grumbled.

"The way I see it… it's a waste of my time to even try to offer one at this point. Until you finish beating yourself up, you won't hear anything I have to say," the Sheriff observed. "Just get the bastard, Jim. We finally have a hot trail to follow, so find him."

A shout from the door of the farmhouse interrupted whatever response Brass had been preparing to make. Seeing Sofia Curtis waving to him from the sagging porch, he took a deep breath and went back to work.

-----

Pausing to let his eyes adjust to the gloom of the old house, Jim looked around. To his experienced eye, it was a 'no-brainer' that someone had left in a hurry. Several plastic storage bins had been overturned, their contents scattered across the dusty floor. The door to a bedroom stood open, the bed unmade… the closets standing open and empty. A dirty tee-shirt and a pair of old shoes peeked out from under the sagging bed.

"He was living here."

"Looks like it… at least part of the time," Sofia replied. "My best guess at this point is he cleared out once he heard you'd found the house behind Casey's. He had to know that once we had Woods' name, it was only a matter of time before we found this place."

"Plays," he agreed, the immediate demands of the investigation temporarily muzzling his rage. "Did we get lucky and he overlooked something useful?"

"Maybe," she hedged, holding up a large leather-bound journal. "I found this lodged between the mattress and the wall. It looks like he uses some sort of shorthand. Whatever is written in here must be important for him to go to this much trouble to hide it."

Snapping on a pair of latex gloves, Jim accepted the journal. After flipping through the pages for several minutes, he offered, "I don't think this is shorthand. The script looks… familiar."

Frowning, Sofia asked, "Script? Where would you have seen something like this?"

A faint smile briefly cracked the hard expression on his face. "A lifetime ago. Believe it or not, Det. Curtis, but I was once a young and not so innocent college student. My senior research paper was on ancient forms of writing. Its been too long ago for me to be sure, but… this looks similar to one of those… maybe a more modern form of one of them."

The mental image of Brass, the College Years made her smile. "I forgot… your degree's in history, right?"

"Yep… my folks thought I'd go to law school from there," he shared, a resigned sigh betraying the lingering disappointment he felt at the state of his relationship with his family. "My ending up a cop was one of many things I did to disappoint them. My brother… he'd joined the force directly out of high school, so that was ok, but… their plans for my life and my own never meshed I guess."

"So… do you know anyone that might be able to tell us what language that is?" she asked, quickly steering them away from what was obviously a sensitive topic. They had enough to deal with without pulling the scabs off old scars.

"Yeah," he replied. "Bag it. I'll call a friend that teaches early English lit at WLVU. If he can't read it, Russ can point us in the right direction. We need to crack the code a'sap."

Looking around as she slid the journal into a plastic evidence bag, he prompted, "Are you finished in here?"

"Not even close," Sofia responded. "Greg was processing the house, but Grissom needed him. There's a lot to process down in… well… now that the coroner has taken out the third body…"

Holding up his hand to interrupt, Jim nodded grimly. "Got it."

Blowing out a tired breath, she offered, "Even with all hands on deck, they're stretched pretty thin processing the entire place. I volunteered to take over in here while he's gone. The living room's about 70% finished. I've just started on the first bedroom… the one Keyser appears to have been using. There're two other smaller bedrooms, a bathroom, and the kitchen… the attic left."

Nodding, Jim offered, "I'll take a quick look up in the attic… see if anything appears to have been disturbed recently. If not, good chance Keyser never went up there. We'll finish up the downstairs and leave it for Greg it that's the case."

"Makes sense," she agreed. "The two other bedrooms look like nobody's been in them in years, so they can wait for him as well."

"Right," he acknowledged. "Hand me a few of those evidence bags. I guess you and I get to relive our glory days as CSI's."

-----

The middle-aged man behind the desk rose to greet his visitor. "Jim… it's good to see you. It's been months since you and Casey were over for dinner. I'd ask for an explanation, but I've seen your ugly mug all over the news too much lately to bother."

"Yeah… seems like a lifetime since normal," Brass agreed, extending his hand to shake the one his friend was offering. "How are Betsy and the girls?"

Sighing, Dr. Russell Ferguson admitted, "Jumping at every shadow like most of the women in the area. How is Casey? The reports on the news have had us worried."

"She's fine… getting a little stir crazy, but she's safe… thanks for asking," Jim offered.

Pointing to the chair across from him, the professor observed, "When you called, you said that I might be able to help you with the investigation. Anything I can do…"

"I think you can… but what I'm about to show you has to be held in the strictest confidence, Russ," Jim emphasized. "Lives literally depend on our keeping this between us for now."

"I know you have to say that but… you don't really…"

"Yeah, I do," Brass interjected. "Our friendship is the only reason I risked coming here to ask for your help. If I hadn't come to you, I'd have gone to the FBI on this and… I need something a lot quicker and without the bureaucratic crap that entails… but I still have to cover the bases. Now isn't the time to get sloppy and assume anything."

Nodding, the professor prompted, "So… how can a professor of English literature help find a mass murderer?"

Pulling out a thin stack of papers from the manila envelope he was carrying, the detective handed them to the other man. "We found a journal we believe was written by the Strangler. The script he's using looks familiar… like one of the ancient European writing forms. Since Old English literature is your field of expertise… am I way off base here?"

After studying the pages for a few seconds, Ferguson began to nod. "You're right; he's using Futhark, the Runic alphabet. It, unlike a number of other ancient alphabets, has both consonants and vowels. Whoever wrote this is making a crude attempt at the Anglo-Saxon version. Good call."

"And my folks complained a history degree was a waste of money… that I'd never use it in the real world," Jim retorted. "So… what can you tell me that might help us find this bastard?"

"Not a lot from this section… at least not in the lines I've translated so far," the professor admitted, his eyes fixed on the sheets of paper in his hands. "Like I said… it's pretty crudely written, so this may take a while."

"Where does a high school dropout go to learn an ancient, dead alphabet?"

"Books… the internet. Runes are still used in modern day Pagan and Wicca rites, as well as, by groups interested in darker pursuits," he speculated, looking up to meet Brass's gaze. "Nothing about what's in these passages suggests the occult is playing any role in his… crimes, but… it should be kept in mind as the entire text is translated."

"Right… the devil made me do it," Brass growled. "So… you **can** read this without the need to refer to a translation chart?"

"Yes… most of the surviving manuscripts I've studied over the years were written in this form… that or Old English," Russ confirmed. "I learned to read it years ago… second nature to me now. This stuff is crude but I should be able to get the gist of it pretty quickly."

"Then, I need your help," Brass proposed. "My secretary can type as you translate. I need to know what's in the journal sooner rather than later. Are you willing?"

Ferguson slowly nodded. "I'm your man… but I need to make sure Betsy and our daughters are safe first. My helping you with this…"

"… could call his attention to you and your family," Brass acknowledged. "Does Betsy's brother still live in Quebec?"

"Yes. Let me give her a call and suggest they start packing."

-----

"I had a message waiting on me from the FBI in St. Louis… said it was important, so I returned it before I grabbed a little rack time," Nick announced as he dropped into the guest chair in his supervisor's office. "They exhumed the body of the unknown man from the house fire where McMullen was injured and compared the Army dental records for Lewis with those of skull. No surprise but, the real Martin Lewis is in that grave. The man claiming to be him must have been Keyser."

"So… was Keyser the man they found at the house… or did McMullen lie to protect his son?" Gil asked, rubbing a tired hand over his neck. A throbbing migraine had blurred his vision since returning from Nye County, the images they had borne witness to indelibly etched on him memory.

"Keyser's the only one that can answer that. Nobody else really knows what happened at the house prior to the fire," Nick explained. "McMullen was unconscious for days… spent months in the hospital recovering from his injuries. When he woke up, the man claiming to be Lewis had already fooled the doctors and the police… told them he didn't have any family so they wouldn't go looking. As far as the FBI can determine, the two men never spoke again, so… the only thing they're sure about is Lewis died in the fire."

"And, since we know Keyser was using that name in Minneapolis several years later, we can conclude he's been using that name ever since," Gil summarized. "Let's see what we can turn up on the name Martin Lewis… here and along the Gulf Coast. Keyser seems to like using the names of dead men."

-----

Casey watched as Jim shifted his supper from one side of his plate to the other. Knowing he needed time away from the other members of the task force to decompress and regroup, she had set a table for them within the minimal privacy of their tarped-off portion of the bunkroom while he showered and changed. Reaching over to still his hand as he absently sculpted a mound of mashed potatoes, she offered a gentle smile when he looked up. "Want to talk about it?"

Irritated by the disruption of his thoughts, Jim responded in a tight voice, "About what?"

Squeezing his hand, she urged, "I overheard David and Wendy talking about… the ranch in Nye County. If you need to talk… I'm pretty good listener."

His gaze dropped back to his plate as the thin veneer he had plastered over his simmering rage and feelings of guilt began to shatter. Shaking off her hand, he muttered, "I appreciate the offer… but, no way I'll ever tell you about… I was as close to hell as I ever hope to be. You don't need that in your head."

"Neither do you," she murmured. "If you don't…"

Shoving his plate aside, Jim pushed to his feet, "Leave it!"

Reaching out to try and recapture his hand, she tried again. "Honey… since we found out he's after me…"

"Damn it, Casey! Not everything is about you!" he growled. "Leave it!"

Stung, Casey pulled back. "I wasn't…"

"What the hell do you think you can do to change anything?" he demanded. "What the hell do you think you know about what's going through my mind… much less think you can do to help?"

"Jim… honey…"

"I have work to do and you're a distraction I can't afford," he growled. "People are dying out there and you want to hold my hand… feed me chicken. Back off and stay the hell out of my way!"

Before she could respond, Jim turned and stormed out of the room.

-----

"You keep jerking those weights around like you're doing and you're going to tear something."

Sending an irritated glare in Vartann's direction, Jim suggested, "Keep your opinions to yourself. I know what I'm doing."

An eyebrow rose as the junior detective studied his superior for clues of his mood. Tossing a towel on the bench next to a rack of free weights, he muttered, "Yeah… I can tell."

A sharp grunt was followed by a loud clank as the stacked weights of the machine Jim was using dropped loudly back into place. "What the hell is it with you people trying to tell me…"

"… you're being a total asshole," Lew completed, his own frustrations driving him to speak to a superior officer in a tone he would normally never use. "In case you hadn't noticed, you're not the only one this goddamned case is getting to, so shove the attitude. I came here needing a break… a chance to blow off some steam. None of us needs you dumping anymore crap on…"

"Here's a thought… if you need a break, why don't you fix your screw-up and find Tom Keller?" Brass taunted, wrenching his arms free positioning. "If he's Keyser…"

"…anyone that dies after I let him slip past me is on my head," Vartann growled. "I know that, damn you! And it's not like you have your hands clean, CAPTAIN! At least I wasn't banging my girlfriend why a killer watched…"

Surging toward the younger man, Jim demanded, "You leave Casey out of this! She hasn't done anything to deserve your shit…"

"But I deserved yours?"

Both men froze as Casey's question cut neatly through the haze of raw fury that had both of them spoiling for a fight. Brass's face blanched white as he turned to face his fiancé… and noted the tears she was struggling to contain. "Case…"

"You said…"

Drawing a shaky breath, Jim felt his anger drain away, leaving him sagging with exhaustion. "I've said a lot of stupid things today. You haven't done anything wrong, babe… other than having pretty questionable taste in men. I'm sorry…"

Taking a step forward so that she could take his hand, she whispered, "You haven't done anything wrong either, Jim. He was watching me before we met… you've proved that. He's been killing for thirty years… and you guys are the only ones to figure out what was happening… save any of his planned victims!"

Jim dropped his head as he admitted, "It's not enough. I missed something… something that should have told me…"

"If he was already there when we met, then there wasn't anything to notice," Casey reasoned. "Nothing changed as far as you could tell, so… you didn't miss anything. He was…"

"… there. I should have…"

"Have you looked at the pictures I found… the ones of him from my neighborhood?" she interjected. "Have you?"

"What does…"

"I've spent hours searching my pictures for… for men that might be watching me," Casey whispered. "I never realized… and I saw him all the time. I knew he stared at me… that he was creepy, but… I wasn't really aware of him. He looked and acted… like it hurt to even move. I SAW him and… I didn't see a threat."

Reaching out to grab her shoulders, Jim argued, "Babe… it's not your job to…"

"…look out for myself …be aware of my surroundings… the people that live in my own neighborhood?" she exclaimed, irritated at his dismissal of her comment. "What are you saying, Jim… that your powers of observation are so much greater than mine that you should have realized the old, arthritic man sitting on a bench in MY neighborhood was wearing a disguise?"

"Yeah, I should have."

"I saw him several times a week… usually sitting on that same damned bench watching me and it never entered my head to think it was anything other than… it never occurred to me to say anything to call him to your attention… not to mention that I never told you about that damned break-in," Casey insisted. "I don't jog mornings you stay over so… have you even seen him, Jim… even once?"

"It doesn't matter…"

A growl of irritation preceded, "Damn it, Jim! Are you even listening to yourself? How the hell do you think you were supposed to have known the old man leering at me in the park was the Strangler if you've never even seen him! That is the most incredibly stupid, arrogant…"

"I'm stupid and arrogant am I?" Jim growled back. "I've been a cop for over thirty years, but I guess that isn't good enough for the great architect! I don't tell you how to design buildings, so I don't think I have to take this crap…"

"I'm not questioning your intelligence or that you're one hell of detective," she exclaimed. "I saw him, you didn't. I was living there for over a year before I met you and he was already there… staring at me… Oh, God! Meeting you wasn't just the best thing that ever happened to me… it probably saved my life. I'd never have realized…"

Pulling her fiercely to him, Jim buried his face in the tumble of golden brown hair spilling over her shoulder. A shudder of both desire and relief rippled through his tense body as he felt her arms twine possessively around him. It was several minutes before the crush of emotions swirling around them eased enough for him to whisper, "You saved me too, babe. I was so close… close to breaking and… I love you, Case."

-----

Lew Vartann leaned back against the wall by the entrance door to the LVPD gym, an amused smirk helping erase some of the tension from his features. Holding up his hand to stop a young patrolman from entering, he noted, "You'll have to come back later… Brass's orders."

-----

Feeling Jim wince slightly as he shifted his left shoulder, Casey asked, "Pulled a muscle didn't you?"

"I'll be lucky if it's only a pulled muscle," he acknowledged. "I've been working with weights too long to have been that reckless. I could have torn something."

Pulling away from his embrace, Casey snagged his hand and began to pull him across the room. "Come on. You need a deep-tissue massage to work that out or you'll be paying for it tomorrow."

A slightly off-center smile was the first to grace his face since setting foot in the bunker. For the moment, the haunting images of death retreated as he focused on his very much alive lover. "Any lame excuse to get your hands on my body… I feel so cheap."

Without looking back, she nodded, "You are cheap… but don't expect any mercy after that crack."

"I guess I have that coming… and it was pretty damn stupid of me to jerk those weights around like I did," he admitted. "I was already tight as a drum."

"I noticed," Casey agreed. "Get that shirt off while I spread out a mat for you to stretch out on."

Realizing that, while they had the gym to themselves at the moment, that was something that was unlikely to continue for long. "Uhmm… maybe this isn't such a good idea, babe. I could do without an audience and…"

"Then lock the door," she instructed. "Pull rank. It's good to be the captain."

That made him laugh as he turned to do just that. "I doubt I'm ever going to hear the end of this… but, frankly, I don't give a damn at this point. I need that message… and I need a little alone time with you. With Catherine and the other women from the lab sharing the bunkroom with us… tarp walls don't give us much privacy."

A snort of amusement preceded, "If by 'alone time' you mean sex… don't write checks your body's too tired to cash. Be a good boy for once and just lie down and think of the LVPD. You're getting a deep tissue massage, not a cheesy fantasy reach around. You're going to be doing well to walk back to the bunkroom and crash once I'm through with you."

"Well," he joked, tossing his shirt to one side before stretching out on the towel covered mat she had placed in front of the door to the showers, "that should keep thoughts of 'alone time' under control! Be gentle with me… I've had a rough few days."

Casey knelt at his side, placing a bottle of muscle rub she'd found in a cabinet to her left. Jim shifted several times trying to find a comfortable position before settling his head in the cradle of his folded arms. Watching as his shoulders tensed as he repositioned himself again hoping to take the strain off of protesting joints, she took a deep breath to steady herself as she bent over him.

A gentle kiss ghosted across his left ear as she whispered, "I know you have, Jimmy. I wish this wasn't going to hurt. After I'm finished, hopefully you'll feel better and will be able to get some sleep."

A faint grunt was his only reply.

-----

Jim groaned loudly as her nimble fingers found yet another cluster of bunched muscles. "Damn, Case! Ehhhh… I won't be able to walk after this."

A slightly evil chuckle drifted over his shoulder. Midway through the message, Casey had moved to straddle his hips and was now resting on his upper thighs as she put her weight into working out the kinks in his lower back. "Don't be a wuss. I've been enduring these since I was a kid."

The blue eye that cracked open to study her was decidedly bleary. "So, I have to pay for all the times you had to go through one of these?"

"Pretty much," she agreed. "Stop whining. I'm almost finished… then you can hit the showers for a hot steam."

"Hot sounds good," he murmured. "Are you coming with?"

That made her laugh. "Was the double entendre intended or not?"

"That wasn't a no."

A snort of amusement accompanied, "No money in your account, remember?"

Feeling the touch of her fingers gentle as she began to sooth the sore, tingling muscles of his back and shoulders, he managed, "I have overdraft protection."

"I so hope nobody is listening at the door," she mused. "With all your moaning and groaning… we're going to be the talk of the PD for days."

"Like we haven't been since you showed up that night with a picnic, naughty delivery girl. Since you moved in… you're now a legend."

Leaning down to nuzzle his throat, Casey took a moment to savor the feel of his relaxed body under hers… it had been a while. A soft kiss on his cheek accompanied, "Stay here while I get the shower running. I'll finish this there."

A sleepy mumble asked, "Finish what?"

-----

Jim sagged weakly against the wall of the shower. The soft, wet hands that had been caressing his lower body slowly traveled up his chest as Casey rose to her feet. A small nudge urged him to sit on the bench situated along the wall. Managing to open his eyes to a squint, he made hazy note of the Cheshire Cat smile on her face as she straddled his legs and slowly lowered herself...

-----

A slightly dopey smile accompanied, "Wow… I really needed that."

"My pleasure."

That made him laugh. "I wish I was up to the challenge of keeping your pleasure going a little longer."

They both sighed with contentment as she nestled against him, her lush curves slick from the shower that poured over them. "I'm more than good for the moment. Besides, seeing you this relaxed is all the added pleasure I need."

The shower was silent for several minutes except for the sound of the falling water. "I'm not sure I have the strength left to walk all the way back to the bunkroom. You think anyone would mind if we just slept in here?"

He felt her smile against his throat. "You just don't want to face the looks we're going to get once we open that door."

"Hummm… I guess now would be best," he mused, pulling her a little tighter to his chest. "I'm too damned sated to give a damn how much they smirk."

"Does that include the Sheriff… and his esteemed Undersheriff?"

Another louder groan was the only answer he managed.

-----

A/N --- I debated long and hard whether or not to leave in the gym/shower scene. It makes sense to me that, since Casey is essentially living at his office, Jim couldn't avoid her like he would probably do under normal circumstances. And, yes, I do think Jim would avoid her… guilt and anger would make most people withdraw from someone they feel is either responsible for or a distraction to whatever they're dealing with. IMO, a confrontation between his guilt and her worry was inevitable.

Neither could escape by going out to a bar or going over to a friend's house while they cool off. The gym was the only logical place under the circumstances of this story for both of them to head to blow off some steam. They're living, for all intents and purposes, in a fish bowl. Either they find a way to make that work until they get their lives back or the relationship will fall apart under the strain. The relationship means too much to both of them to let that happen without a fight… and a fight was bound to lead to…

… and it's human nature for people that have faced death to seek an outlet for their emotions… usually something physical. Since sex is the ultimate conformation of life, I decided it made sense in the overall scheme of things. I'm not sure why I felt the need to justify any of this. I mainly wanted to make the case that it wasn't just random sex or a chance for Jim to fulfill his 'office sex' fantasy (and we ALL have them). I honestly feel the scene was a reasonable part of the story… besides, I got to write shower sex with Jim! WEG!!!!!

As for those that expected me to give more details of what exactly they found inside the bunker… I decided the hints were enough to make the point and left it at that. Sometimes leaving the details to the imagination is far more effective than spelling it out, so… it was that bad.

Oh, and yes, I changed Vartann's name to Lew from Joe since that was what Catherine called him in _Panty Sniffer_. I'll correct the earlier chapters at some point. FYI… I have a one-shot (?) in the works that's a follow-up to that epi. It's called _Facing Life_ and I hope to post it later this week.

Thanks and more thanks to those that are reading my story! I'd love to hear from you with your reactions, thoughts…

4-4-2010


	29. Chapter 29 Fresh Perspective

Title: By Design, Chapter 29

Author: Sorsha_711  
Fandom/Pairing: CSI; Brass/OCF  
Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations  
Disclaimer: A quick check of my bank account should prove I'm not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh! Anything you recognize belongs to the good people that bring us CSI.  
Summary: A serial killer is stalking the streets of Vegas… hell of a time for Brass to meet the woman of his dreams.

By Design, Chapter 29 --- Fresh Perspective

-----

"I spoke with my neighbor this morning," Sam began, pulling out a chair at the table across from Brass in the EOC kitchen Casey had commandeered to feed 'the troops'. "Tommy works for _Tru-Blue Security_. They're a national firm with a big operation here in the Vegas area."

"Yeah?" Brass replied, extending the coffeepot to refill the mug the other detective was carrying. "Was he able to help nail down an angle on how Keyser's avoiding security cameras… maybe where's he getting his hi-tech gadgets?"

Sighing, Vega nodded. "He says the parking lot part is pretty simple to explain if you know what to look for. The red light on the front of the camera blinks when the camera is still getting juice, but not a feed. No light, no juice… no nothing."

"So a quick canvas of a parking lot tells him all he needs to know," Jim summarized. "Doesn't help us find him, but it's still good to know. Send an email to all briefing officers to add that to the daily. I'd like them to have our patrols start a list of lots that don't have functioning cameras… and, yeah, I know it will be a long list. Anything that narrows the field can only help at this point."

"Yeah, I guess. It does explain his catching the video cameras we planted… his knowing where they are on the buses," Vega observed, relieved to see the usual steady focus normal to his CO reasserting itself. The entire task force had been worried by the reckless anger that had been evident in his mood the day before… but then they had all been reeling in response to what they had found at the Nichols Ranch.

/I guess the rumors about the gym… I so didn't need that mental image!/ Sam silently moaned.

Refocusing on their conversation, he added, "It also explains why he feels comfortable coming back for their rides… he knows no one's watching."

A sudden sickening thought hit Jim like a blow to his gut. In a low voice that wouldn't travel across the kitchen, he murmured, "Is it possible he was… the cameras weren't transmitting in that parking lot where he grabbed Valerie. If he was following Case…"

"Did he plan to grab her that day… got distracted by Valerie and took her instead?" Sam completed. "It's possible… or it may be proof that he has his game wired so tight, the situation fit his parameters for an impulse grab. Valerie was a beautiful woman. He saw her, he wanted her… she was vulnerable and never knew it. No way to know, boss… only thing I'm sure about is Casey's safe and we'll keep her that way."

"Assuming he doesn't skip town and wait for us to drop our guard," Jim mused. "If we miss him now… we'll be looking over our shoulders for the rest of our lives."

"We're not going to let that happen," Vega declared, the hard edge of his voice underscoring that commitment. "He's in our sights and we'll get him."

"Right… this stops here," Brass agreed, mentally repeating his mantra.

The woman in question flipped the last of the pancakes onto the top of a tall stack before turning to face the two men. The soft 'cat with a full bowl of cream' smile her face caused Vega to discretely study his CO as she asked, "Did I hear you mention _Tru-Blue Security, _Sam? They're one of the best firms around."

Stifling a laugh as he noted the smug expression on Brass's face, Vega managed, "Yeah, I did. How do you know them?"

"I've worked with them on a number of projects… they have offices across the country," she supplied, placing the platter in front of the two men. After taking the seat next to her fiancé, she continued. "Banks, casinos… actually most businesses these days have IT and security systems designed into the building, hardwired from the beginning. Some even have us drop empty PVC into the walls and floors to use as conduit for new wiring if the need arises. That's a hell of a lot cheaper and less disruptive to day-to-day operations long-term than a retrofit… though the wireless technology is changing that."

"And you work directly with _Tru-Blue_ on those designs?" Sam asked as he shifted a third of the stack of hotcakes to his plate. "I'm glad I timed this right. I haven't eaten since yesterday."

Pleased to have something to contribute to the effort, she ordered, "There's more batter if those run out, so eat up."

"You don't have to tell me twice," Sam promised, refusing to become distracted by guilt over the number of breakfasts he's missed with his family over the years… the number of cold pancakes his wife had thrown out because he hadn't made it home in time to join them.

Accepting the lightened patter, Casey answered his question. "I work with _Tru-Blue_ fairly frequently… they're usually my first choice. Most GC's have a security firm as a sub… use their designers to price a system as part of their bid packages the same as they would for HVAC or IT. For bigger projects, I work with them directly… especially if there are vaults or monitoring rooms in the building. Technology changes too fast for me to do otherwise."

Trying to keep his voice as neutral as possible, Jim pressed, "Have you used them here in Vegas?"

Focused on filling their plates, Casey nodded. "Yeah, on several projects… the _Dreamweaver _complex… a bank down in Henderson… a couple of medical offices… most of the buildings at _Celebration_. We had them lined up to do _The Eclipse_ and the McGregor hi-rise… still will if they ever get going again. Why?"

"Just nice to talk about something besides the case," Jim offered as he accepted his plate.

Dousing his stack in a flood of sticky syrup, Sam admitted, "When I was a kid, becoming an architect was sort of a dream of mine… that or being a cop. Building design still interests me."

"The design world's loss is LVPD's gain," she proposed, amused by the boyish grin on her lover's face as he similarly smothered his breakfast in the sugary condiment.

Her observation made Sam chuckle. "You've never seen me try to draw that little turtle on the back of the matchbook. If Tippy was beyond me, I somehow doubt I'd be able to manage a house."

"Well, they didn't let me start designing houses the first day I turned up either," she retorted. "That's kind of the reason you have to actually attend the classes."

A forkful of food paused halfway to his mouth as Sam offered, "I'm a damned good cop, but the world wasn't deprived of a great architect by that choice. So… with security systems you what… design for the wiring… equipment?"

"Mostly… locating the lines so they don't get interference from the electric or other services is vital… like, you don't want to install plumbing in the ceiling over a server room. A pipe breaks and it could be an expensive disaster," she explained. "Depending on the system we're installing, there may be equipment rooms or security centers for monitors, as well as, wiring for cameras, pass-card readers… call boxes. The specialized needs of a casino, especially the vault, are mind-blowing."

"_Tru Blue_ is big enough to handle something like that?" Vega pressed, pausing to sip his coffee. "I didn't realize they were** that** big."

"One of the biggest," Casey supplied. "They sell everything from home security setups to top-of-the-line commercial systems. They even offer monitoring services and rent-a-cops for construction sites… from the basics to bleeding edge technology worthy of James Bond."

"Rent-a-cops? They have security details?" Jim interjected. "I'm familiar with crews from DeWitt and Continental… a few others. I thought they had a corner on the market."

"They do, but it's waning," she responded. "_Tru-Blue's_ offered staffing and monitoring for years… and they were gearing up to expand when the economy tanked. _Tru-Blue_ has effectively used their position in the technology field to build relationships with various builders. That gives them an in on onsite security gigs… which gives them an excellent shot at getting the tenants to hire them once they occupy."

Pausing to take a bite of her breakfast, she added, "From what I've been told, they've become a real threat to the old-line security firms in recent years. A lot of on-site security services have been outsourced over the last ten years… apparently insurance and workers comp costs are making it increasingly cost prohibitive for anyone but the biggest companies to maintain their own crews. _Tru-Blue_ saw the potential and caught the wave."

"OK… good to know. Am I wrong that I've always assumed the rent-a-cops at construction projects were employed by the construction firms to keep an eye on their equipment as much as the site?" Jim observed.

"Some do," she agreed, "…most of the crew employed at _Celebration_ are employed by _Greenley_. Alan Greenley wants his own men looking after things. _Tru-Blue_ handles the installation and monitoring of the security systems, but the guards are his."

Sipping her coffee, Casey casually recalled, "Come to think of it… I was at a meeting a few years ago about the _Eclipse…_ not long before Mr. Braun died actually, and he made the comment he'd never outsource security. One of his number crunchers told him he was being 'old-school'. He laughed and told her, old-school or not, he wanted the men with the guns to be on his payroll… made it easier to assure their loyalty."

"Sounds like Sam," a voice from the doorway offered. "He didn't like sharing control with anyone."

Looking over her shoulder, Casey gave Catherine an apologetic look. "I'm sorry. I didn't…"

Sliding into the chair next to Vega, Catherine reassured, "Nothing to apologize for. Sam was a complete original and I loved him for all his faults… and God knows he had a lot of those."

"Nice way of putting it," Jim muttered, flinching as a foot connecting with his shin. "Hey… no kicking! I calls them as I sees them."

"I can't argue… I have no delusions about him. Vegas was a different town when he made his fortune. He never managed to leave it behind… a shark in a tux is still a shark," the CSI observed, a sad smile on her face. "I didn't realize you knew him, Casey."

"I met him a few times... mostly at meetings on _The_ _Eclipse_," the architect offered, smiling as Jim covered her hand. "One of the senior partners in my firm was principle on the project. I was still living in Miami at the time, but I was frequently in and out of town working on plans for _Celebration_. I sat in when their meetings fit my schedule so Larry had a backup should the need arise."

"You mean Larry Ware?" Catherine responded, smiling her thanks as Vega passed her the coffeepot. "He could give Sam a run for his money any day when it came to being a character."

"You know Larry?"

Nodding, Catherine poured herself a cup as she recalled, "I met him years ago… he was having lunch with Sam at a diner down the street from the _Rampart_… your old haunt, Jim… _The Ace_."

"Oh, man, I miss their country fried steak and apple pie," Jim sighed. "That place was torn down, what… eight, nine years ago?"

"Probably longer ago that that," Catherine mused. "I was addicted to their meatloaf and mashed potatoes… and their burgers."

"Just walking in the door was enough to get my mouth watering," Jim agreed. "So… you know this guy…"

"Larry? Yeah. Sam introduced us when I stopped by their table to say hello. Larry took my hand… took forever letting it go, then he showed up that night at the club where I was dancing… became a regular…" she recalled, "more like a regular pest. He kept sending me flowers… proposed at least a dozen times over the years. I was married with a small child at the time, but he kept offering to 'take me away from it all'."

Wide blue eyes stared in shock at the smirking strawberry blond. "Larry?? Larry Ware at a…??"

Chuckling, Catherine finished, "…a strip club. If he was in town, I could count on him showing up before the first show and staying half the night… front row, center. Man was a good tipper if nothing else."

"Larry Ware???"

Looking back and forth between the two women, Brass prompted, "OK… why is it so hard for you to believe he had a thing for Cath?"

"It's not that… I can't imagine any straight man not having a thing for her," Casey insisted, "but…"

"So, you thought he was gay?"

"No… frankly, I've always thought he was the most sexless person I've ever met," she admitted, watching in amazement as Catherine began to laugh. "Milk-toast seems spicy next to him. Eunuchs seem like randy frat-boys next to him. Old maid, spinster schoolmarms would seem like wanton tramps…"

A smug smile settled on Catherine's face as she finally controlled her laughter. "You'd be surprised…"

Quickly plugging her ears with her fingers, Casey insisted, "I so don't want to hear he was a tiger in bed!! That could put me off sex for years!!"

"Heaven forbid! Jim would never forgive me… and neither would the entire night shift if that satisfied smirk on his face is any clue," the scientist asserted, her smug expression turning evil as she watched the blushes bloom across the faces of all three of her companions. "He was a snarling bear yesterday but he's a happy lamb now, so…"

"Catherine… please…"

Taking pity on Vega, she continued, "As for Larry, I had no interest in finding out but I heard a few of the other dancers talk… still waters and all that. I stayed as far from him as I could most of the time, but… the man had quite a rep. In fact… a few said he was a little freaky-deeky… liked to…"

"Sorry, babe, but that did it!" Casey moaned. "I'm donning a habit and becoming a None Nun. Larry Ware and freaky-deeky so don't belong in the same sentence!"

Shaking his head at their combined teasing, Jim warned, "Payback is hell."

"I'll live in dread. Are those pancakes still warm?" the smirking CSI asked, the tense set of her shoulders easing as she enjoyed the moment.

Catherine had come looking for a chance to hassle her friend and escape the somber gloom of the lab as much as for a warm breakfast. The rumors about the couple's 'alone time' in the gym had begun swirling before they left to make their way back to the bunkroom. Intended or not, speculating about the 'possibilities' had given the entire force a much needed diversion… even if the thought of Brass having a love life was more than a little disconcerting to a few of the rookies. If she managed to score a stack of hot pancakes in the bargain, her day was off to a manageable start.

"If you promise not to tell me any more about Larry, I'll make you a fresh batch," Casey offered, giving a mock shudder. "I won't be able to keep a straight face at the next partner's meeting. Who knew!"

"So, you were on _The_ _Eclipse _design team?" Catherine asked, discretely leading the conversation back to the path it had been following when she arrived. "Besides, Larry and Sam who else do you know that I might?"

Shrugging her shoulders, Casey focused on the griddle, missing the meaningful looks being exchanged by her companions. "The cast of characters changed from meeting to meeting. A few of his investors… I can't remember their names. Bill Curris… Bart Aiello were usually there. Donna… I don't remember her last name. I'm pretty sure she was an accountant. Doug… Schwartz maybe. A few others, but I'm bad with names."

"Yeah, Doug Schwartz," Catherine confirmed. "I've known him and Bart for years… Bill's family. He worked for Sam from the start… was one of only a handful of people he really trusted."

"I always enjoyed his stories of old Vegas… more than a few meetings got started late because listening to him was more fun than work," Casey recalled. "I got the feeling he knew where all the bodies were buried."

"Literally and figuratively," the other woman confirmed. "Donna… was it Donna Abrams?

"Could be… knockout brunette with impressive… assets if that helps," Casey supplied. "Now that I think about it… Larry did give her the eye. Then, I didn't pay it much attention, but now that I know… I so didn't need to know he followed the Vegas rule!"

Mentally connecting another of their victims to Casey, Jim forced himself to ask, "Vegas rule… as in 'what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas'?"

Chuckling, Casey flipped the last of the pancakes onto a clean plate as she turned to face the table. "Yeah. On behalf of the entire Miami office, ignorance is bliss in the case of Larry 'the stud' Ware!"

-----

"The FBI sent us the information on Woods' tractor-trailer rig… a 1996 Kenworth T600… medium blue cab with a white trailer," Nick supplied, as he dropped a file onto the stack in the middle of his supervisor's desk. "He was an independent long-haul trucker… owned his cab and a refrigeration trailer."

"OK," Gil acknowledged. "Are they thinking Keyser has it… is possibly using it?"

Nodding, the younger CSI added, "It's passed through a couple of weight stations on I-15 in the past year… long after we believe Woods was murdered."

"Well… he could have sold it before he died?"

"It's still registered in Missouri… Woods is the RO according to their records," Nick countered. "The taxes and insurance are current… last payment was made two months ago using the bogus account in the Caymans."

"Now, that's harder to explain unless it's Keyser," Grissom admitted. "We need to issue an APB on the rig. Since he knows we've made the connection to Woods, my guess is he's already disposed of it... sold it hopefully, but he may try to ditch it out in the desert."

Nodding, Nick observed, "Maybe, but the cab has a sleeper compartment. He could be living out of the cab since we've run him out of both the house on Cobalt and the ranch. He may need a place to crash while he regroups. As for the trailer… hell, who knows what he might be storing in there."

"OK. I'll…"

"There's more… may be big," Nick interjected, reaching out to tap the file. "The Woods had three children. In the '80's, they were living in St. Louis area…. in Tilden, the home of Carl Johansson, van thief and junkie… site of the house fire that nearly killed Patrick McMullen."

The cup of coffee Grissom was lifting froze midway to his mouth. "Tilden? They're sure?"

"Yeah, they are."

"Well… that's a huge piece of the puzzle," the senior CSI observed. "Have our friends been able to find a link that connects all three?"

"Actually… it looks like Keyser's the link. Agent Coleman's sending me a full report, but I got the highlights from him when we talked," Nick supplied. "Apparently, St. Louis really is the gateway to the west."

"OK… start filling in the gaps."

"Well… the Woods' daughter's name is Suzanne Roselyn. Their two sons were almost grown when she was born. Henry, Jr., is in the Air Force… currently stationed in Germany. The other son… Jack, lives in Cleveland… manages a fast food restaurant," the younger man outlined.

"After their mother's death, their father sold the house in Tilden and started living on the road in his truck cab… kept in infrequent contact with both of them… a few phone calls and the odd email or letter. It had been a couple of years since he'd last made contact… they'd filed missing person reports across the country looking for him," Nick reported. "Jack saw the report of our search at their grandparent's ranch on CNN and contacted the FBI."

Frowning, Grissom questioned, "Why hadn't they contacted Nye since Woods was telling people he planned to move there?"

Sighing, Nick reported, "They thought the ranch had been sold to pay for their mom's medical expenses. Apparently, Woods hadn't mentioned the ranch to either of his sons in years, so… they didn't think to look there."

"Hell of a way to find him," Gil mused. "And… the daughter's name is Suzanne Roselyn?"

"Yeah."

Pursing his lips as he let the new information filter through his agile mind, Gil observed, "Sue… and Rose would be the diminutives of her name. Rose Joyner used the name Sue when she was staying at _CASA_ shelter. Is it possible they're the same woman?"

"It's more than possible. An old Minneapolis driver's license for a Sue McGovern was among the ones we found in the stash at Cobalt… it was one of the ones we sent them to ID since her name wasn't on the list of known victims from the region."

"The FBI used it to make the final link. Coleman emailed me a picture… her wedding portrait. She's wearing the same necklace as the one Rose Joyner left at the shelter. The neighbor down in Henderson told them Rose said was a gift from her grandmother," Nick replied. "Jack Woods confirmed Mrs. Nichols gave his sister the necklace on her wedding day… it's a family heirloom. It all fits."

"Well… that does fill in quite a few gaps," his boss acknowledged. "Do we know how she ended up in Henderson married to Keyser? Run the known timeline on her."

"Sue met Eric McGovern in college… they married in 1994 and moved to Minneapolis that summer when he took a job working for a bank," the younger man replied resuming his report.

"Minneapolis? You mentioned the driver's license…"

"Yeah… Tilden to the Twin Cities. Jack Woods told Agent Coleman that Eric was bored to tears working at the bank… that he was obsessed with computer games… started designing some on his own. Apparently, he was a natural… began selling them for some serious money," Stokes reported. "By 2000, his days at the bank were behind him and he had a freelance gig with a software gaming company… _Metalworks_. Between his games and her job as a school teacher, they were doing pretty well."

"_Metalworks_? That's the name of the company where Eric Joyner was supposed to be working, right?"

"Right," Nick confirmed.

After mulling over the new information for several seconds, Grissom asked, "Did Woods tell him why his brother-in-law started using the name Joyner? And… does it explain why Keyser ended up in Minneapolis? Was Eric his partner in crime?"

Shaking his head, Nick countered, "Not likely from what they've uncovered. It looks like the link isn't to Eric; it's to Rose… well, Sue actually."

Rubbing wearily at his eyes, Gil prompted, "OK. What was the link to Sue?"

"Apparently, she was nearly abducted on two occasions in 2000. The McGoverns took off in September… left everything they owned behind and just split," Nick supplied. "That was during the time the Lakeland Killer's crimes were gaining serious attention. After the second attempt, they ran hoping to protect her."

"So… the FBI thinks Keyser took his killings on the road from St. Louis to Minneapolis because he was after Suzanne Woods… a woman we now believe died at his hands here in Nevada?" Gil questioned.

"Beginning to look that way." Sighing, Nick added, "Until now, we didn't know why he moved up there. All of his other moves appear to be related to tracking his father."

"What else have they uncovered?"

"According to Jack Woods, neither family knew where they had gone for several years… then a letter arrived at his aunt's home in Norman, Oklahoma letting them know they were safe… had settled in Texas and changed their names to Joyner," Nick continued. "A few more letters… then nothing. Neither family has heard from either of them since."

"He found them."

Nodding, Nick concluded, "I'd put money on it. Since Sue ended up here, the FBI is looking into any unsolved murders fitting Eric McGovern's description between here and Texas. _Metalworks_ hasn't heard from him in almost four years… some promised updates to one of his games were never delivered, so odds are he's dead."

"I wouldn't hold my breath that his remains will ever be found," Grissom observed. "Keyser was feeding his kills to the alligators along the Gulf Coast during that period."

"Did Brass get anything from that address Sofia got for Joyner in Austin, Texas?" Nick asked.

"Address was for a boarded up house, been vacant for years," the older man supplied. "From what Austin PD told him, the house is tied up in litigation stemming from a failed land development. Developers bought up several blocks of older homes with plans to tear them down to make way for a new subdivision. Front man for the development disappeared with all the money… no trace of him has surfaced since he crossed the Mexican border. The FBI's still digging for a connection to Keyser… local FBI's in the mix."

"Sounds familiar," Nick observed, "…man disappears along with his money."

"Yeah, it does."

Sighing, the younger CSI summarized, "Bottom line… it looks like Keyser was the man living in Henderson using Eric's name, probably keeping Sue prisoner… his slave. She escaped and he tracked her down… killed her. The only other option is McGovern became an abuser and was knocking Sue around. Jack Woods is certain that's completely out of character for the man he knew, so… I'm betting it was Keyser."

"Henderson had him and never knew who he was," Grissom sighed.

"They also think he's stealing the royalty payments on McGovern's games," Stokes supplied. "All trace of those funds has disappeared. _Metalworks_'s depositing all future payments in an escrow account while the FBI looks for Eric, so he won't get anymore. If he's still alive, he'll contact them pretty quickly to find out what's happened."

"But Keyser isn't likely to run that risk. Insult to injury… he kills someone and steals their identity, siphoning off as much of their estate as he can before someone gets wise to his game," the scientist summarized. "This information also explains how he knew about Henry Woods and the ranch over in Nye County."

"Jack told the FBI agent that his dad was spending all of his time looking for Sue… working only sporadically to pay the bills so he could devote 24/7 to finding her," Nick offered. "He promised his wife on her deathbed to bring her home, so… He would call when he thought about it, but… finding Sue consumed him. The last time he called, he told Jack he had a fresh lead… said he was meeting another trucker that had been helping him look for Sue."

"A lead that probably got him killed," Gil muttered. "When was that call? Do we have a name of the man he was meeting?"

"That call was a little over two years ago… around the time we think Sue and her father both died," Nick replied. "The FBI traced it to a payphone at a diner in T or C, New Mexico. Nobody remembered seeing or talking to him. Not surprising given how long it's been. Jack wasn't sure of the other trucker's name… Ernie… Arnie, maybe."

Frowning, Gil asked, "T or C?"

"Yeah… Truth or Consequences… small town off I-25 in southwestern New Mexico. Town changed its name to win a contest sponsored by that old game show," Nick supplied, a faint smile easing the exhausted lines on his face. It wasn't often he bested his boss with a bit of obscure trivia. "Feds are following up hoping to figure out what happened to Woods… but…"

"We have three unidentified men from the graves at the ranch," Gil inserted.

Nodding, his subordinate agreed. "I reminded Agent Coleman of that, but… without a name, no way to find DNA or dental records to match to one of those bodies."

"Yeah," Grissom agreed. "I'll get Brass to give Austin a call… see if we can get something from the missing developer to run against what we have. May be a long-shot, but… if he crossed paths with Keyser…"

"… he may be dead," Nick completed. "Sue McGovern seems to be the only person to have survived more than a few weeks after coming into contact with Keyser. Henderson needs to reopen the investigation into the death of the neighbor. He killed her too… I don't have any doubts. He just did a better job of hiding his crime that time."

"I'll talk to Sofia… get her to call Platner. It's clear he wants Casey to take Sue's place as he live-in slave," Gil agreed. "He told her nobody gets away from him, no matter how long they hide. We know that was true in the case of the McGoverns."

"Yeah."

"The daily briefing is in two hours. We can update the rest of the task force then," Grissom instructed. "Ask the FBI to send us a DNA sample from Jack Woods so we can conclusively establish the familial link to his father and sister… give her back her real name. At least, her brothers can give them both a proper burial… best we can offer until we find this bastard."

-----

"Keller… we have you surrounded," Vartann called. "This doesn't have to end ugly. Let the woman go and give yourself up."

"I didn't mean to hurt her! You got to believe that. I loved her!"

Trading a look with the uniformed officer crouching next to him behind the door of his car, the detective tried again. "Look… you can explain all of that to me at the station… I'll listen, but not while you have a gun to a woman's head. She didn't do anything, so let her go… now!"

"I don't want to get shot!" Keller's voice whined. "You got to promise me…"

"Let her go, then throw out your weapon… nobody is going to shoot you if you give yourself up," Vartann insisted. "You keep this up and someone is going to get antsy… make a mistake. We don't want that to happen… so be smart about this. Let her go and give yourself up."

"If I do it… you promise me I won't get shot?"

"Yeah… I have your back, OK? Just tell us she's coming out and this can end peacefully," Lew ordered. "Once she's safe, all you have to do is follow my instructions and you'll be fine. Now… are you letting her go?"

Two minutes passed with agonizing slowness… then, "OK… I'm sending her out."

Vartann shouted so everyone in the area could hear his orders. "The hostage is coming out. Everybody hold your fire and do not… I repeat, do not fire at anything."

Seeing nods from the other officers ringing the scene, the homicide detective instructed, "OK, Keller… send her out. Once we have her safely out of the way, I want you to toss your weapon out into the open so we can all see it. Understood?"

A few seconds passed before they heard their suspect agree. "OK… here she comes."

The words had barely left his mouth when a young woman stumbled into view, then ran toward him, her eyes wild with fear. A tangle of bright red hair all but obscured most of her face, but what was visible was covered by a large purpling bruise. Mitch Mitchell sprang forward to wrap his arm protectively around her waist and pull her behind the safety of the line of police cars blocking the parking lot.

"OK… we have her," Lew announced, relieved to have the hostage safely out of the line of fire. "Slide out your weapon… make sure it gets out far enough so we can all see it. Do it NOW!"

A handgun skittered into view as all of the officers tensed for the final act. "OK, Tom… lace your fingers together behind your head and walk out slowly… no sudden movements. Walk until I tell you to stop… then drop to your knees with your hands still behind your head. Understood?"

"OK… I'm coming out. Don't shoot!"

Two minutes later, Vartann watched as his suspect was shoved into the back of a patrol car. Brass and Ecklie appeared to his right, both having elected to stay behind the lines while the younger man handled the scene. "Well… is it him?"

Looking over to meet his superior's gaze, he shook his head. "No. Nothing wrong with his hand that I saw… and he's right handed. Big tiger tattoo on his upper body's too noticeable for our witnesses to have missed even with the burn scars. None of it adds up to him being Keyser."

"So…" Ecklie began, "why did he run… grab a hostage?"

"I don't know yet, but I plan to find out," Vartann growled. "He said… 'I didn't mean to hurt her'. I'll put money on there being a body out there with his name on it."

Sighing, Jim ordered, "Keep me posted."

-----

"I just spoke to Robbins," Gil began. "He got a familial match on the DNA sample we got from Connor Edward's brother to one of the bodies in the graves at the Nichols Ranch. A comparison to dental records confirms the ID… the body that had been in the ground for less than two months was Edwards."

Nodding, Jim offered, "I was expecting that. Harris and Sanders are piecing together the last knowns on Edwards… beginning with the apartment he was renting over on Tropicana. Since he's been dead for only two months, maybe the trail isn't completely cold."

"We can only hope," Gil agreed. "No pops on the APB on his Accord?"

"Not yet," Brass sighed. "I have patrol pulling over any 2003 in case he's changed out the tag… maybe painted it. I'll let you know if they find anything. Since the Sheriff released the surveillance footage _Dempseys_ gave us, wouldn't surprise me if he's ditched it too."

-----

"Remember Elizabeth Eller… the dancer from the _Acid Drop_?"

Looking up to study the exhausted look on the younger man's face, Jim motioned toward the chair across from him. "Yeah… she went missing after finishing her shift… never made it home… didn't pick up her son from the sitter. We've had her on the possibles list for months. Is that who Keller was apologizing for hurting?"

"Yeah," Vartann confirmed. "He was waiting for her outside the club… said he planned to ask her out. She said no… it went downhill rapidly from there. He dumped the body out in the desert. The case was originally Holstein's so he plans to take him out there once it gets light and try to recover the remains. "

"Good work. I'll talk to Zek… hook him up with a CSI from one of the other shifts to help process whatever they find." Jim praised.

"Wrong guy."

"He killed a woman on our watch… a single mother whose son will grow up without her," Brass replied. "From all we know about him, my guess is it was only a matter of time before he killed again. You got the bad guy… that's the job."

Noting the weary quality to the nod he received, Jim ordered, "Grab a few hours sleep, then you need to crawl up Auto Detail's backside and camp out until they find the chop shop where he's fencing the stolen vehicles. The lab thinks they have the CAT stop ID'ed where Keyser caught the bus back to the shopping center after he got rid of Valerie Davis' SUV."

Pushing himself to his feet, Lew nodded. "Right. One bad guy down, but no end in sight."

-----

4-6-2010


	30. Chapter 30 The Strip Drop Chop Shop

Title: By Design, Chapter 30

Author: Sorsha_711  
Fandom/Pairing: CSI; Brass/OCF  
Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations  
Disclaimer: A quick check of my bank account should prove I'm not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh! Anything you recognize belongs to the good people that bring us CSI.  
Summary: A serial killer is stalking the streets of Vegas… hell of a time for Brass to meet the woman of his dreams.

By Design, Chapter 30 --- The Strip Drop Chop Shop… or Finding Kobayashi

"_My name is Kobayashi. I work for Keyser Soze."_

_The Usual Suspects_

-----

Brass flipped his cell phone shut. Looking over at Sam Vega, he offered, "That was Port Arthur, Texas. They've found Eric McGovern."

"What? He's alive?" Vega demanded, clearly surprised by the possibility.

"No such luck. He's been a John Doe in their cold case files since his body was unearthed after Hurricane Rita flooded a low-lying area in 2005," his CO replied. "Body didn't have hands… face was bashed in, so no way to ID him until the FBI connected the dots."

"They're sure it's him?"

Nodding, Brass offered, "They've made a mitochondrial match between his mother's DNA and a tissue sample taken during the original autopsy. Their ME is having the body exhumed so it can be re-examined… then sent home for burial. I told them I'd send them what we have, but directed them back to the FBI for principle support in their investigation. We have enough on our plates."

"Understatement of the century," Sam muttered before taking a sip of his coffee. "Has Platner been able to tie down when Keyser showed up in Henderson pretending to be Joyner?"

Staring at the pen he was aimlessly weaving between his fingers, Jim replied, "Yeah. He came by earlier to take a look at the file on Emilia Giles. It looks like the Joyners… sorry, McGoverns, purchased the house in early 2005. They must have been planning to get out of Texas and move here when Keyser found them. My guess is he killed Eric and decided to take advantage of the new digs… move his show to Vegas with a captive Sue in tow."

"Wonderful," Sam muttered. "Who's Emilia Giles?"

"The third DB from Keyser's chamber of horrors. Grissom called with the ID while you were getting a few hours rack time," Brass supplied. "She lived in Henderson… worked as a blackjack dealer at the Tangiers. Platner has been detailed to the task force since we now have two of their residents on our list of confirmed victims. If the elderly neighbor was a revenge killing… that's three."

"Emilia… yeah, I remember now. Her name showed up… six or seven weeks ago on the list of missing women," Vega added. "Took me a minute to place the name."

"I get that," Brass acknowledged. "Never fails to get to me how many women go missing each year… or how many we never find."

A weary nod was the only reply Sam offered. Sighing, Jim added, "HPD is feeling the heat that they had Keyser in their hands and let him get away. I probably wasn't the most understanding person Don could have run into. I know they had no clue… none of us knew who we were dealing with at that point in time, but… the ranch is still way to fresh in my memory for me to be feeling sympathetic."

"Yeah… starting to wonder if I'm going to relive that goddamned bunker every time I try to get a few hours sleep," Sam admitted. "I swear to God I could smell that damned place when I woke up."

Studying his senior detective out of the corner of his eye, Jim noted the lines of fatigue marking the younger man's face. While Sam had been short on details about the relocation of his family, Brass had been around too many blocks not to recognize the signs of a family in serious crisis. Add in the strain of the massive investigation… "You talked to the shrink Ecklie assigned yet? Sessions are mandatory for everybody that worked the ranch."

Nodding faintly, Sam disclosed, "Spoke to him before I crashed out… was it last night? Hell, my hours are so screwed up I'm not even sure what time it is now. Anyway, yeah, I've had my session."

"Yeah… feel your pain," Brass agreed. "I've worked grave for the last twenty, so it feels weird to be up in the middle of the day on a regular basis."

Hearing Sam's grunt of acknowledgement, Jim added, "Make use of the shrink if you need him. He's there, so use him as a sounding board… rant… talk about the Dodgers' chances this year, whatever it takes, OK?"

"Yeah, right," Sam muttered, obviously uncomfortable with the conversation. Hoping to change the topic to something he was prepared to discuss, he noted, "So we have ID's on all three of the women from the ranch… progress I guess."

Sensing he had pushed the other man as far as he could for the moment, Jim offered, "Pamela Willick, Emilia Giles, and Megan Waring. That just leaves three of the bodies from the graves. Woods and Connor are the only names of missing lmen we've been able to tie to Keyser so far. Stokes says the FBI may have a couple of possibles, but… who the hell knows at this point."

Before either man could say more, their secretary stuck her head in the door of Brass's office. Extending a pink message slip in his direction, Connie offered, "Lew Vartann just called. He asked you both to meet him at this address. Auto Detail may have found…"

-----

"What have you got, Lew?"

The younger detective turned to greet his commanding officer. "Auto Detail has been working their way though the known or suspected chop shops in this area of the Valley since the lab traced Keyser's bus rides to this part of town."

"So… did something pop?" Brass demanded, already sure of the answer hearing the confident tone in the younger man's voice.

Nodding, Vartann offered, "They raided a chop shop working out of this address this morning. They're still sorting through the inventory, but, in the last hour, they found several parts with ven numbers that match Valerie Davis's SUV."

Trading a fierce look with Vega, Jim demanded, "Great… let's talk…"

"The owner… David Wagner, lawyered up as soon as they gave him the search warrant. I had a patrol take him to the station," Vartann interjected. "I thought we might want to have more than a couple of parts before we tipped him off we'd made the connection. Apparently, this guy doesn't just chop up stolen vehicles, he also fronts parts sold to him by freelancers."

"Yeah, that would make it pretty easy for him to claim he bought the parts from a third party… until we know if he's more than just a thief…" Vega mused, filtering through the various scenarios for options. "Maybe Keyser's been selling him the victims' vehicles intact, maybe not. Wagner can at least give us a possible ID, but we need to know who we're dealing with first."

"Exactly what I was thinking. Ed Ellis is the detective heading up this operation," Vartann offered. "Ed's heard Wagner sells some of the stolen vehicles intact… most of which end up going out of the country in container ships for resale. Luxury vehicles are in high demand in Asia and South America. Ed's still running down that angle."

"Shipping stolen cars overseas has been big business for years," Brass acknowledged. "Does Wagner sell locally?"

"Yeah… we found a dozen or so stolen cars from the Vegas area in a warehouse he rents under a bogus name a few blocks south of here," Lew confirmed. "His market strategy is pretty straight forward… repaint… change out the components most likely to tip off a mechanic the car is hot, and sell to bargain hunters more concerned with a owning a sweet ride than clean paperwork."

"That raises another possibility… the SUV might have been chopped, but that part might just be one they switched out getting it ready for resale," Jim mused, frustrated by the delay in getting in Wagner's face and forcing him to talk. "A Beemer would be prime for resale."

"Yeah, but the market for SUV's went soft when gas prices went through the roof… haven't really recovered from what I hear," Lew pointed out. "We might have better luck with another model."

"OK… either option is possible. Is there a car from one of the recent cases that might be worth the risk of holding onto that's a better bet than a SUV?" Sam prompted. "You're thinking we might be able to recover one of them still intact?"

Nodding, Vartann proposed, "It may be a long shot, but it's the best shot we've found for getting our hands on one of those cars. Ed says there's still demand for hi-end product, especially now that the economy is so bad fewer people can afford one the legit way. Sell intact or chop… all depends on what gets them the most money the fastest way possible. Keeping a car intact is riskier… easier to get nailed."

"Have you seen Warner?" Jim asked. "Is he a possible?"

"Well… he generally fits the description," Lew hedged. "He's 6'1", maybe 2"… fairly muscular, but I think he has too much of a gut to be our guy. Still…"

"Yeah, still," Brass agreed. "OK… so how do we work this?"

Handing his captain a file, Vartann proposed, "Ed's team has complied a list of storage sites Wagner uses… mostly for overflow in his repair and used car business… junkers he keeps for parts. I was thinking we could divide them between us and see if we get lucky."

Nodding, Brass pulled out his cell and dialed the number for ADA Jack Morales. "I'll get Morales working on search warrants. We do this by the book. No way we risk having a search tossed. The Beemer parts give us probable cause to tear his business apart and see what his detailers missed."

-----

"Pamela Willick's silver Mercedes is now midnight blue."

Straightening away from the side of his car where he had been leaning as he waited for his team to complete the search of one of the storage sites, Brass demanded, "You're sure it's the right car?"

"We found the ven number several places the guys from Auto say never gets changed. It's hers," Sam replied. "I doubt there's much in the way of trace left given the detailing this car was given, but I'm having them take it to the crime lab so Grissom and his team can go over it with a fine tooth comb."

"Good work, Sam," Jim replied. "We're about finished at my site… found several stolen cars, but none of them are tied to our case. We need to go over Wagner's home and office… tear his background apart and see if he's our man."

"You think he's involved in the murders?"

"Why not? Angelo Buono owned a upholster business… used it as a cover," Brass observed, referring to one of the convicted Hillside Stranglers that terrorized the Los Angles area in the late 1970's. "At the very least, Wagner's been covering for a killer. He got the same hot sheet updates of stolen cars every dealer and junkyard in the Valley got on our vics' cars. One he might miss, but not two. He has blood on his hands even if he wasn't directly involved in their murders."

"Yeah… probably every victim's after Tina Ortiz if not further back," Sam agreed.

"I'll see about getting a warrant to compel a DNA sample from him… see if it matches our doer," Brass proposed. "I sure as hell don't want us talking to this bastard until we have a better idea if he's just a thief or one with a sideline of murder."

"Yeah… we move too fast, without enough evidence either way, we may loose the advantage," Sam reasoned. "And, it may be a good idea to see if we can compel DNA samples from anyone working for him. Maybe Keyser has a Bianchi… you've never been convinced our killer is acting alone. That or he could be covering for one of his own boosters."

"Right. I'll get Lew working on a list of his guys… give Grissom a call to alert him you've found Pam's car," Brass concluded. "I have units searching the remaining storage sites, so let's wrap this up as quickly as possible. Wagner has a lot of explaining to do."

-----

Looking up as Brass walked into the lab, Grissom announced, "We've taken DNA samples from Wagner and all of the men on the list of known employees of his auto chopping empire. No match to the Strangler case. We did, however, find a match for blood found at a crime scene you worked last year… a carjacking that went bad over on Industrial."

"You mean the Dillard murder?" Jim asked, forcing his mind to focus on the cold case. "College kid… got jumped getting into his Porsche. Dillard fought back and ended up getting shot?"

"That's the one," Grissom agreed. "Witnesses all reported Dillard elbowed his attacker in the face… probably broke his nose. We got a match to the blood found on the left sleeve and shoulder of Dillard's shirt."

"Yeah, I remember," Brass sighed, the usual rush of solving a cold case absent for the moment. "Kid got the car as a high school graduation present from his folks. Devastated them both that he died fighting over it. You have a name for me?"

"Yes… Kyle Sever. He's in lock-up waiting for you," Grissom replied.

"Right."

Reaching for a file, the entomologist offered, "I had Greg pull what was in the system on this kid… 19… impressive sheet for his age. He has two priors for grand theft… one as a juvenal. A few others… mostly petty charges."

Reading through the printed material, Brass nodded. "I don't suppose we got lucky and found a gun on him when he was patted down?"

"Sorry, no," Gil responded. "Auto Detail found several guns in the search of the chop shop… no Berretta in the mix. Bobby Dawson is checking them for a match. Give him a few hours to finish up. If you can get us a warrant, I'll have Riley process his apartment and see what she can find."

"OK… yeah, I'll get that A'sap," Jim agreed, reaching up to rub his neck. "I'll have O'Riley go with her. I'm staying on the main Stranger case."

"OK. Do you want us to send our findings to Ray or you?"

Sighing, Jim answered, "Both. If this kid is one of Wagner's boosters, he may be involved in more than one murder."

"At the very least, he might know where Wagner got the cars... maybe know a name of whoever sold them to his employer," Grissom speculated. "He'll want a deal…"

"Up to the DA," Brass inserted. "If he can help us find a sadistic serial killer, I'll live with it."

"Yeah... but Aaron Dillard's parents might not see it that way," the senior CSI mused.

"The families never do," Brass agreed, too focused on finding Keyser to feel his usual ambivalence on making deals with killers. "So… are Catherine and Nick still processing Wagner's home?"

"Yeah, she called in a little while ago," Gil reported. "They should be finished before noon. Wagner has a wife and three young kids living in the house, so I'm not expecting to find any evidence to link him to the victims… except maybe trophies."

"Serial killers have been known to take their victims to their homes when their families are away… some claimed they got a big rush killing literally under the noses of their wives, sometimes even in the beds they share," Jim commented. "After 30 plus years on the job, nothing much surprises me about what one of those animals might do."

-----

"It's about time you showed up," the paunchy middle-aged man seated at the interrogation room table complained, ignoring the attempt by the young attorney seated at his side to keep him quiet. "I've wasted two days sitting on my ass, twiddling my thumbs. I have a 'get out of jail free card'… one you're going to want real bad."

Taking his seat, Brass leaned forward and laced his hands in front of him on the table. "Really? You should have sent word. I had no idea I was keeping a man with that kind of clout waiting. If I'd known, I'd have had them serve you Champaign and caviar like we do all the whales we entertain at our humble little establishment… maybe arrange for a pedicure."

"Laugh it up, asshole, and I'll make you work for it," Wagner growled, clearly irritated by the detective's dismissive attitude. "I've got something big to offer. You've been after this for months… hell, you're all over the TV begging for what I got."

"Really? You don't look like the type that's packing anything… big," Jim taunted. "And, while that may make you very popular with your new roomies at Western Nevada, don't expect me to beg for anything from a scumbag like you."

Furious, Wagner planted his palms against the side of the table and half-rose from his chair so that he could lean in Brass' direction. "Keep it up and I'll clam up tighter than fucking Fort Knox. Jail may not be home, but I can take care of myself. Not everybody can… not everybody is safe… not by a long shot. Blow me off and someone else is going to die. That'll be on your head. My lawyer here will make sure everybody knows it too… the press will have a lynch mob ready to string you up in under a day, tops."

"And that means?"

"I'd advise you to stop right there, Mr. Wagner," his lawyer interjected. "We need to discuss…"

"Shit! I don't need you to handle this. I have information he wants bad, so he'll give me whatever I want to get it," Wagner smirked, lounging back in his chair now that he felt the tide was about to shift in his favor. "What I got…"

"… is information on the Backwoods Strangler," Brass completed. "You've been doing business with him… buying the vehicles he stole from his victims for at least the last year. Why the hell do you think I'd waste my time talking to you if I didn't already know about your little friend? I'm homicide, not stolen cars."

"How…"

"Mr. Wagner… I advise you to let me do the talking," Ian Rucker argued, laying a hand on his client's arm in hopes of shutting him up. "Let's hear what the Captain has to say and…"

"We've been looking for you for months," Brass confirmed, ignoring the paid mouthpiece. A lethal glare wiped away the last hint of false good-humor from his expression. "While you've been enjoying our hospitality, we've been busy. So far we've found parts from three dead women's cars at your chop shop…"

"I buy parts from all over," Wagner dismissed. "So I missed the ven numbers on a few…"

"… not to mention the Mercedes owned by Pamela Willick," Jim offered as if the other man hadn't spoken, "… and the…"

"I don't have any warehouses… just my shop," Wagner countered, clearly rattled that Brass already knew about his business dealings with the Strangler. "That one ain't mine."

"Really? You must be clairvoyant," Brass taunted, "since you didn't wait for me to tell you where we found her car… much less that it was in a warehouse."

An angry flush colored his face as Wagner retorted, "Just saying what makes sense…"

"Mr. Wagner…" the nervous attorney whispered, his unease with the situation clear.

"That it was in a warehouse, not on a sales lot… or a cargo ship bound for Asia… that it was probably sold by now and we found it in someone's driveway? Now those responses would make sense," Brass observed. "Our finding it in a warehouse leased to you… repainted and ready for resale… now that's a little harder to explain."

"I already told you I don't have any other warehouses…" Wagner began, shaking off the hand clamped onto his arm.

"…except for the ones leased in your deceased father-in-law's name. Your secretary was very helpful… already has a full pass for her cooperation," Brass supplied. "You made quite a memorable impression on the rental agent that leased you the warehouse where we found Pam's car. He had no problem picking you out of a photo-lineup. Calvin Anders told me you were in such a big hurry you paid him six months in advance when you signed the lease last year… in loving memory of the dearly departed Lester Skelton."

"I'd like to see a copy of…"

Tapping his note pad, Jim continued. "Coincidently, the date on the lease is exactly one day after Lindsey Plano' disappearance. We didn't find her car among the stolen vehicles there… been way too long for it to still be sitting around… but one of your boys remembered you paid him some serious scratch to drive a blue 2008 Toyota Camry to that warehouse around that time. He remembers it so well because you're usually such a cheap bastard you try to charge to breathe the air in your garage."

"I can explain…"

The feral look on Brass' face upped a notch in intensity as he added, "Now, this is where it gets really interesting. A blue 2008 Toyota Camry … that's the exact make and year of the car Lindsey drove."

"Sever's lying," Wagner interjected. "I never…"

"I don't remember saying which of your boys blabbed… interesting you'd know," Jim mused. "And, the thing is… some of the other members of your band of merry men remember you making them similar deals for other cars… most recently for a 2009 red Seville. It matches the description of one driven by Megan Waring… one of three women we found butchered in a bunker over in Nye County four days ago. We found it on a cargo container behind the same warehouse waiting to be hauled away."

"I don't know anything about that! I didn't kill no…"

"You've known who you were dealing with for over a year and did nothing," Brass bit out, "so, save the bullshit for someone that's buying it. You decided to keep dealing with the devil rather than turn him in… and at least twelve more women died so you could make a few bucks fencing their ride. That makes you an accessory to capital murder… maybe buys you a Murder One charge since their deaths took place during the commission of a robbery."

"I didn't kill anyone!! I had to keep quiet… you don't know who you're dealing with," the chop shop owner exclaimed. "That bastard would have killed…"

"Don't cry to me, you son-of-a-bitch!" Jim growled. "You got over your fear of him pretty fast once your neck was on the line. If we'd found him last year, you and your family would have been safe… and those women would still be alive. We would have been willing to offer you a deal then… before you became his bitch."

"I got more to offer. He sold me a van… grey 2001 Econoline for parts," Wagner shouted, his growing panic obvious. "He was real insistent I chop it immediately."

Inwardly groaning, Brass demanded, "OK… so you…"

"There's a big demand for vans like that one," the prisoner offered, hoping he'd found a way to get his plan back on track. "I can sell them real easy. I might make more on the parts split up, but sometimes it's nice to have something my customers need in a hurry. They pay extra if I can deliver."

"So… you're telling me this van is still in one piece?" Brass responded, refusing to tell him just how important it was to get his hands on that van. "OK. Where…?"

"Shit, man… get real. No way I'm giving it up without getting something for myself," Wagner interjected. "I want a deal. I give you the van and the rest goes away."

Fixing him with a hard, lethal glare, Brass demanded, "Is the van intact… and in your possession or has it been sold?"

"Tucked safely away waiting for the guy that's buying it to pay up… still exactly like it was the day I go it," he replied. "Here's the deal… I put it in yours hands, tell you all I know about this guy, and you put me back on the street, all charges against me dropped."

"You must think I want that van pretty bad," Brass taunted. "No deal…"

"You want that van so bad you got wood just thinking about it," Wagner retorted. "I expect a walk before I say…"

"OK… I've heard your offer. Now you can listen to mine," Jim interjected, the fury he was feeling hardening his features to a stone mask. "Like I said, we've been busy while you've been waiting in lockup flirting with your future bunk-mates. In addition to several dozen of your boys… boosters, choppers… runners, your wife and baby brother were at the warehouse where we found Pam's car. She came driving up in Libby Stevens' stolen Mustang just as we were getting ready to leave… forgot to mention that part didn't I? That makes her an accessory..."

"You bastard!!! Leave them out of…"

"They're in custody awaiting arraignment," Jim continued, ignoring his prisoner's angry response. "If you're worried about them, you'll see Joey in a cell down the block from you when you go back to wait for your dinner. Cora is enjoying our hospitality over on the women's side… your kids are already in foster care. 'Course I can't promise how safe any of you will be once the general population hears you're the Strangler's boy."

"You fucking son-of-a-bitch! You leave Cora and my kids alone!" Wagner growled, surging to his feet. A pair of uniformed officers shoved him back in his seat and held him in place as he continued to struggle. "Joey's just a kid! He doesn't know shit about…"

"Let me run this for you… you're looking at more years than you'll ever live to see. Your wife and brother are facing accessory after the fact in addition to a mountain of other charges," Brass outlined. "Your kids are already in the system… will be there until they age out at 18 unless something changes fast."

His voice was a low growl as he concluded, "If you want to help them… not to mention yourself, I suggest you start talking. You help me find the man that sold you those cars… give up the van, and you might… maybe, live to walk the Strip a free man again. Now, **WHERE THE HELL IS THAT VAN**?"

-----

Standing to one side as the carefully wrapped grey van was hoisted from the back of a flatbed truck to the floor of the crime lab's auto shop, Grissom glanced over at his companion. The call notifying CSI that the Strangler's van was in their possession had been welcomed news. The horror of processing the bunker had taken a heavy toll on the entire task force, but the CSIs had borne the brunt of the burden as they had spent hours combing the chamber for evidence. The van, along with the three recovered cars, offered them another chance to help catch the man responsible. It also gave them an outlet for the blinding fury clawing at their senses.

Rather than risk loosing any evidence it might contain, Gil and his team had painstakingly encased the van in a thick layer of plastic wrap before it was transported to the lab. That had taken them almost two hours, but no one had argued. The risk of loosing even the smallest piece of trace evidence wasn't something any of them was willing to consider. If it hadn't already been, the case was now deeply personal for the entire LVPD.

Noting the hard, predatory gleam in the detective's dark eyes, he asked, "How did you manage to get Wagner to talk?"

"Let's just say I made him a deal he couldn't refuse… give up the van and everything he knows about Keyser or else," Brass replied, his tone removing any doubt his description of events wasn't a completely accurate retelling of the interview, not mere macho posturing.

"He gave you a name to go with the van?"

"Nothing useful… Rocky was all he had," Jim growled. "Hopefully, the rest will be more productive, but… either way, the van was the big score."

"Are you sure you can trust…"

"I had him by the short hairs… so, yeah, he told me everything he knows," Brass confirmed. "Let me know if you find anything that will help us find this bastard."

"Where will you be?"

Sliding his sunglasses back into place, Brass walked toward the bay's open door. "Out following the leads Keyser's Kobayashi gave me. Call me if you find anything."

-----

4-11-2010


	31. Chapter 31 We Deliver

Title: By Design, Chapter 31

Author: Sorsha_711  
Fandom/Pairing: CSI; Brass/OCF  
Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations  
Disclaimer: A quick check of my bank account should prove I'm not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh! Anything you recognize belongs to the good people that bring us CSI.  
Summary: A serial killer is stalking the streets of Vegas… hell of a time for Brass to meet the woman of his dreams.

By Design, Chapter 31 --- We Deliver

-----

"I finally managed to track down the on-line travel agency that mailed that envelope to the Cobalt address," Holstein announced, handing his boss a copy of a travel itinerary. "Someone claiming to be Henry Woods booked passage to Sidney, Australia on a cruise ship… _The Blue Nymph_, departing San Diego in five weeks. The reservations are for Mr. and Mrs. Henry Woods."

"A cruise ship?" Sam interjected, trading looks with the other detectives sitting around Brass's office. "Why a cruise?"

"Can't say for sure, but he booked a suite that was wheelchair accessible… indicated his wife was in poor health," the younger detective replied. "My guess… whoever he was planning to take with him was going to be unable to move around on her own… probably sedated to the point she couldn't call for help. Be hard to pull that off on a plane for a long flight… too many eyes watching, flight attendants hovering."

"On a cruise… once he got her to their cabin, he could easily limit access to who sees her," Sofia agreed. "An American would have an easier time blending in down under than in some other countries… especially someone posing as an elderly man with an infirm wife."

"Right. Well… we know what his original timeline was now," Jim reasoned, suppressing the worry for his lover's safety that Holstein's report engendered. "He planned to grab Casey sometime in the next month and slip out of the country… start over in another country. The question now is… now that we've thrown a few monkey wrenches into the gears, does he have a new plan or is he simply ad-libbing as he goes along?"

-----

"So the case specific forensics collected for each of our victims ties to either the van or the ranch… or both?" Jim repeated. "None of his victims were killed somewhere else?"

"Too soon to say conclusively… but based on the evidence we've processed so far, that's our conclusion," Grissom confirmed, the flat tones to his voice betraying the toll the long hours spent analyzing evidence was taking. "We still have weeks of work ahead of us to nail down everything we collected to either a victim or a source, but what we've finished so far connects all of the murders to the van or the bunker at the ranch and we've conclusively tied the same man to both of those."

"Right," Jim sighed as he wedging his phone between his ear and his left shoulder so that he could sort the stack of messages piled in the middle of his desk, "get me a report as soon as you can. I'll update the Sheriff and Morales on what you have so far. Thank the team…"

"Jim… there's something else we need to discuss."

Frowning as he skimmed through the latest report on overtime hours accrued by the task force personnel, he offered a distracted, "OK. What's up?"

"We've been sorting through the explosives and surveillance devices Keyser used either at Casey's or at the house on Cobalt Lane… processing the ranch and the van put us behind on that work," Grissom's voice announced. "The serial numbers on the components match the inventories for several break-ins over the past few years… mostly at construction sites including one at _Celebration Centre_."

Brass' pen froze over the signature line of the approval form as he demanded, "You're sure?"

"Very," Gil replied. "The rest of the parts were on the delivery truck that was hijacked from the I-15 rest area west of Vegas a little over two years ago. The cameras used at Casey's house were from that lot."

"Damn… I worked that case. The driver will be spending the rest of his life in a wheelchair thanks to a bullet the robber put in his spine. Two by-standers died at the scene," the detective recalled, scribbling his name nanoseconds before the form was whisked from his desk by his hovering secretary. Tuning-out Connie's muttered complaints about 'finance department deadlines', he pressed, "So, you think Keyser was behind the heist?"

"There's nothing to support that theory at this point. A semi-automatic was used… we don't have any physical evidence to tie him to the scene. But… even if he's not responsible, Keyser knows who is since he acquired the stolen goods," Grissom noted. "We've pulled out everything we have from the original investigation… we're compare it to what we have on Keyser. I'll let you know if we get something."

"Let's concentrate on the shipping manifests… pull together a list of the customers that were expecting those orders," Jim proposed. "Maybe Keyser knew what truck to hit because he knew what was in the back. I'll talk to Morales about getting us a warrant to search their employee records."

"Yeah… it does have the feel of an inside job."

"Right. OK, I'll…"

"One other thing," Gil interjected. "Based on the inventory lists provided on each of those robberies… there's still a lot of it unaccounted for."

Rubbing his neck, Jim muttered, "Great… our ghost has an arsenal."

-----

The young man before the camera nodded to his crew as the uplink to the live studio news show cut to his report. "The Vegas area continues to feel the far reaching impacts fear of the Strangler's crimes has inspired. Hotels, already suffering from the sagging economy, are reporting declining occupancy as tourists flee the bright lights of the Strip for other locales. Restaurants and nightclubs are reporting similar declines as fewer people are willing to brave the streets after dark. Parking lots in many areas of town are nearly deserted once night falls as workers and patrons alike are leaving their cars at home… or are choosing to stay there themselves. We talked to several Vegas area residents to get their reactions."

The scene cut to a clip of an interview with a young woman. _"I'm scared to go out of my house alone. I have to wait on my boyfriend to get off work or find a ride with someone. This sucks!"_

The face of a young male accompanied, _"My girl gets off late, but I told her no way I was having her in a parking lot alone. If her boss can't give her a ride, I'm there at closing every night. The police need to get off their asses and get this bastard."_

"_I'm trying to go on with my life, you know…but it's pretty scary out there," another young woman admitted. "I still go out, but… I don't trust anybody I don't know. You just don't know now that they say he wears disguises."_

"_My buddies and me… we think this disguise (bleep) is all bogus," _a posturing young man insisted. _"We're out there every night doing our thing. He shows his face, we plan to take him down. Who the hell needs the damned cops! All we need is five minutes and this problem is solved… permanently."_

"The only businesses benefiting from the panic gripping the area are gun and other stores that sell personal security devices. They are reporting a huge increase in the number of handguns, pepper spray, personal alarms, and similar items sold in recent weeks as locals arm themselves against the killer."

The scene cut to the smiling face of a local pseudo-celebrity pawn shop owner, the camera's lights bouncing off the top of his bald head. "_We've been averaging ten, twelve sales a day lately. That's a big jump... even from the number we were selling after the economy fell apart. People are scared… don't feel the cops are keeping them safe so they're arming themselves. This bastard better hope the police get him before some of the people I've talked find him. People are mad a hell and ready to do whatever it takes to bring him down."_

"That's a sentiment shared by many of the people we've been talking to, Paula."

Cutting back to the anchor, she asked, "Derrick… are other businesses actually thriving in the atmosphere of fear caused by the Backwoods Stranglers' crimes?"

Nodding, the young reporter offered, "Private security companies are being inundated with orders for home security systems. They're telling us the requests have skyrockets over the past year."

"And, despite the slow economy, the demand for bodyguards is at an all time high. One woman told me that for women that can afford it… the latest must have fashion accessory is a personal bodyguard. This is was Derrick Charles reporting. Paula."

Returning to the main studio, the news caster resumed her report. "Sadly, the growing concern that the public's fears would escalate to violence were validated last night when a young man was severely beaten by a group of men… men claiming to be a citizen patrol. The reason? He was waiting for his girlfriend in the parking lot outside of the store where she works."

"It should be noted that the man in question stands only 5'7", has a slight build, and long red hair, and in no way resembles the description of the Strangler the police have been circulating for months. He remains hospitalized tonight with a concussion and broken ribs while his attackers have been charged with aggravated assault. The police are withholding the young man's name out of concern for his safety. They have, however, confirmed that he is not a suspect in the Strangler investigation. The police spokesman added he volunteered a DNA sample hoping to remove any doubts of his innocence."

-----

"I've been going through the employee records we obtained from the warrant served at _Tru-Blue Securities_," Greg announced, a predatory gleam lighting his eyes.

Looking up, Grissom demanded, "And?"

"One of their rent-a-cops is named M. Wesley Lewis… as in Martin Wesley Lewis. We've found Keyser."

-----

The man behind the desk rose to confront the detectives invading his office. "What the hell do you guys want now? We gave you everything on that damned warr…"

Breaking in before he could finish his rant, Brass demanded, "Martin Lewis… where is he?"

"Who?"

Gritting his teeth, Jim growled, "Martin Wesley Lewis… where is he working?"

"Wes? Why do you…"

"We don't have time for this," Jim inserted. "Where is he?"

"I… I have no idea," Jeremy Albright, the supervisor of _Tru-Blue's_ on-site security services admitted. "He hasn't shown up for work in a week… hasn't called in and isn't returning my calls. That's not like Wes… he's usually regular as clockwork. Unless he has a damned good excuse, I'm planning to let him go. After all…"

"Do you have an address for him?" Brass demanded. "His file only had a PO box."

Rubbing a stiff hand across his balding scalp, Albright hedged, "Yeah… I saw that a couple of days ago when I asked my secretary to pull his file. I was planning to go by and make sure he was OK… he's single as far as I know. With the problems with his hand…"

"Yeah… how can a man with a bum hand find work as a security guard?" Sam interjected from Brass's right.

"Have you met Wes?" Albright demanded, irritated to have his judgment questioned. "He's twice a strong as most of my guys even with a bad hand… but none of that matters since he's mostly a tech geek… mans the monitoring equipment and keeps things working if they go down on his shift."

"We'll deal with the details later," Brass insisted. "What's his address?"

"Well… all we have is the PO," he admitted. "When he transferred in from New Orleans…"

"New Orleans?"

"Wes worked out of our New Orleans office for a number of years… wanted to move after Katrina," Albright explained. "Wes lost his wife in the storm… I don't think he's ever gotten over it."

"His wife? He had a wife?"

Frowning, the supervisor offered, "Yeah. Why would…"

"Do you remember her name?"

Surprised by the question, the man hesitated for several seconds before offering, "Janie or Jessie…"

"Josie?" Sam supplied, recalling the name of the Strangler's last victim along the Gulf Coast, Josie Renaldo.

"Maybe… sounds right," Albright agreed. "Wes isn't much of a talker… only mentioned her a few times. Anyway, he was supposed to update his file once he found permanent lodging after he moved here. He must have forgotten…"

"Yeah, right," Brass muttered. "Where does Lewis work when he bothers to show up?"

"Well… he worked a couple of places when he first got here, but I've had him detailed to _Celebration Centre_ since they broke ground," Albright supplied. "He mans the surveillance trailer for the graveyard shift… helps with the equipment installations and maintenance."

-----

Dropping his pad on the table, Lew Vartann dropped wearily into a chair. "Since I didn't hear anything from one of you, I guess you struck out too."

"No sign of him at _Celebration_… no one remembers him saying where he lives… nobody likes the son-of-a-bitch enough to care, so nobody bothered to ask," Brass summarized. "He shows up for work and goes directly to the trailer where they keep all of the monitoring equipment, does his job… doesn't talk, socialize, or spend any quality time with anyone on his shift or at _Tru-Blue_."

Sighing, he concluded, "Except for an infrequent radio call reporting something one of the other guards needs to investigate or when he handles installation of new equipment, he's a ghost there too… even to people who know where to look."

"All of the other guards work directly for _Greenley Construction_," Sam added. "_Tru-Blue_ only provides someone to monitor their equipment and keep it on-line, so Keyser was basically a one-man operation. The night shift foreman, Phil Bridges, only talks to him if there's a problem… or to coordinate installation of new equipment since he doesn't technically supervise him."

"Did Casey recognize him?" Sofia asked before taking a sip of her coffee.

Sighing, Jim offered, "I gave her a six-pack of photos… she picked him out, but she wasn't solid… said he looked vaguely familiar. Not surprising since he spends all of his time in the monitoring trailer… he's not out walking around the site like the other guards. In fact…"

When he failed to continue, Sam nudged. "In fact, what?"

"She said the only one of the guards on the night shift that she could conclusively ID was the one at the front gate," he replied in a distracted tone of voice.

Trading a look with the other detectives around the table, Sofia prompted, "OK… not surprising either. Why…"

"The day we met… it was at the front gate," Jim supplied, looking up to meet her gaze. "The guard was giving me a hard time about getting in… something he apparently does frequently. He wanted to know if I was there to arrest Tony Osteen. Something was odd about the question… and his tone of voice."

"OK… did you talk to him to find out why?"

"Yeah, sure… and he admitted he knew Osteen was having an affair with Tina Ortiz… had seen the stories in the paper about her murder and figured that was why I was there," Brass replied. "At the time… it seemed like a reasonable explanation."

"And now?"

"Casey says this George has a rep for being nosy as well as a pain-in-the-ass stickler for procedures," Brass mused. "Now that we know Keyser has been working there… I want to talk to him again and see if he knows more than he was admitting."

-----

"I swear… I don't know a damned thing about any of those murders!" George Holden insisted. "Honest man! If I'd had any idea he was the Strangler, you'd have known."

Leaning over the table to fix the sweating man with cold glare, Jim growled, "First time I saw you, warning bells went off. Did you think I'd forgotten about you after you gave me your bullshit story about knowing about Osteen and Tina Ortiz?"

"That's not bullshit! He was banging her… ask his wife… hell ask the entire crew that saw they fighting about it!" Holden exclaimed.

"Yeah… but a guy like you knows a hell of a lot more than the gossip everybody else has," Brass taunted. "The bullshit part of your story was the fact you lied to me with the truth. You knew something else and didn't tell me. I got to ask myself… why would you do that?"

"I…"

"Don't bother lying to me again," Brass growled. "Your voice… it was all wrong that morning… it's all wrong now. I want to know why."

His prey held his gaze for several seconds before blurting out, "That woman… the architect…"

Feeling the skin on the back of his neck start to crawl, Jim demanded, "OK. What about her?"

"I… I was in the trailer using the can… closest place to the front gate, when you walked up," George began. "I saw you talking to her… before you called me to get inside."

"You saw us…"

"On the security monitors… over his shoulder," Holden admitted. "Wes didn't like it… your flirting with her. Made him mad as hell."

"He said something?"

"Naw, man," the guard countered. "His hand… it was shaking so bad he spilled coffee all over his leg… must have burned like hell, but that bastard hardly flinched… never took his eyes off the monitor. He doesn't like anybody messing with her."

"Casey Edgers?" Brass prompted, needing to be sure.

"Yeah," Holden agreed. "I made the mistake once of saying she has a great rack… I mean…"

Clamping down on the anger the crass comment about his fiancé inspired, Jim demanded, "You were saying?"

"He had me pinned up against the wall in two seconds flat… man, he lost it!" the guard recalled, his face loosing color as he relived the moment. "He told me… if I ever said anything about her again… got too close… they'd find my bones in the foundation of the hotel. He meant it too. Bastard scares the hell out of me."

"So…?"

"I knew you were treading on dangerous ground flirting with her where he could see you… and he knew your name 'cos you gave it to me," George supplied. "When I heard you were dating her… I'd watch my back if I were you, man… sleep with both eyes open."

"You knew he was obsessed…"

"I didn't know he was the Strangler! If I had…"

"I get it," Brass interjected. "It's ok to look the other way if a woman is being stalked by a garden variety nut job. He has to kill a hundred women before you think it's worth warning anyone she could be in danger."

The man's face lost the last of its color. "I thought… but… I was scared…"

"Yeah… says it all. Mitch… get him out of here before I forget we're supposed to protect the public… even pathetic wimps like him."

-----

"So… you have something new on Sean, the earlier years that might help us find him?" Jim demanded, as he settled into the chair behind his desk.

"Maybe. From what the Pittsburg PD has uncovered, Amanda Steffee met McMullen in 1963 while she was a student at _St. Cecilia's College_," Nick reported, passing copies of a report to the other members of the task force crowded into Brass' office. "They apparently had a brief affair… Sean was the result."

"And McMullen… how'd he end up in Pittsburg?" Grissom asked. "I thought he was from Boston?"

"He was," the younger CSI confirmed, "but he fought several bouts that fall at a small fight club in Pittsburg. He was there for a few months then left… went to Philly, then Baltimore before returning to Boston. His star was on the rise by that time… led to his one title bout here in Vegas in 1971. Sean probably went looking for his father when he left Pittsburg… explains the murders in each of those cities."

"OK," Catherine prompted. "Have they found anything that explains his vendetta against the _Medicine Cabinet_ chain?"

"Yeah, I'm getting to that. PPD found a friend of Amanda's still living in the area that knew the details not in the case file," Nick supplied. "Apparently, McMullen was a player… had several girls he was stringing along to entertain himself with between fights. Amanda found out… apparently thought their relationship was exclusive and serious. According to the friend, McMullen seduced her with promises of marriage, the house with the white picket fence… yadda yadda. Anyway, she confronted him… demanded he make good on his promises, so he split. That's when she found out she was pregnant."

"So, he didn't know he had a son?" Brass asked.

"That or he just didn't care," Nick replied. "His daughter says he was a stand up guy, but… he was pretty young at the time. May have just not wanted to know. No way to tell at this point."

"OK. What else?"

"Amanda was Catholic, so an abortion was out," he continued, his gaze returning to his notes. "The college she was attending was a small, church-affiliated school. She was kicked out on a 'morals' violation when they found out about the baby. The friend said Amanda was terrified of her dad, so she took off and hid with friends hoping to find a guy to marry her before he found out."

"I still don't…"

Holding up his hand, he offered, "To pay the bills, she found a job at a _Medicine Cabinet_. The pharmacist was named Matthew Villiere…"

"Matthew Villiere? Is he related to Cristy?" Brass demanded.

"Yeah, Cristy was his daughter." Looking up, Nick added, "She hadn't been born at that point. Villiere was, however, married with three small children when Amanda went to work for him, so he wasn't a prospective husband… just a boss as far as she was concerned."

"OK… so what's the link?"

Frowning, Nick elaborated, "The usual. It seems Villiere thought unmarried and pregnant meant Amanda was 'loose' according to her friend. He expected her to sleep with him to keep her job. When she refused, he fired her. She complained, but the regional manager sided with Villiere… who then made it his mission to sabotage her references when she tried to find another job. Apparently, his first wife left him… ugly scene all around."

Tossing his pad on the table, he offered, "Anyway, Amanda's life spiraled downhill rapidly from there. She eventually ended up on the streets... began to turn tricks to support herself and her son. Her pimp killed her one night in a rage thinking she was holding out on him… raped and strangled her in front of Sean according to the file. He was alone with the body for a couple of days before the police found them. He was sent to live with his grandparents, but… it was an abusive situation from the time he arrived. We already know how that turned out."

"Damn!"

"Coincidentally," Nick offered, "the murder he was being investigated for when he skipped town was of the pimp that killed his mother. Man's name was… Harold "Rusty" Jones. He'd been out of jail for her killing less than a week when he was found shot in the side of the head… right side. A man fitting Sean's general description was seen leaving the alley where the body was found. That case is still open."

A strained silence hovered over the room for a full minute in the wake of Stokes' report. Brass finally offered, "Well, that fills in a lot of gaps… not that the why Keyser became the monster he is really matters at this point, but… thing like that with his mother is bound to have screwed him up… add in the abuse… textbook on 'how to raise a serial killer'. If he was predisposed to violence… who knows."

"True," Gil agreed, "and this confirms our theory he does target victims associated with the _Medicine Cabinet_ chain. He obviously blames the store's management for what happened to his mother… and ultimately, to him."

"And it tells us at least one of his victims was chosen… Cristy was selected to punish her father for what he did to Amanda," Sofia observed. "We need to consider the possibility that revenge was the motive behind the murder of other victims."

"That occurred to me too," Sam added. "If Sue McGovern was Keyser's slave, he may have targeted Tina Ortiz for helping her. She was hiding at the _Celebration_ site… they took her to the shelter, so, job or not, he has it out for anyone associated with the project."

"That plays," Ecklie offered from the doorway. "In addition to Sue and Tina, who else has a connection to the _Celebration Centre _area?"

"Beverly Hopkins and Justine Olivetti," Sam supplied. "Beverly lived on the streets in the area and Justine worked the area."

"And possibly Donna Abrams," Jim added. "I saw in her file where she volunteered at an abused women's shelter. I checked; it was _CASA_. That's what… four or five blocks over? Donna also went to several meetings on the _Eclipse_ project where Casey was present… it all ties together."

"We need to go back through the files and see if there are other victims with ties to the area or _CASA_. Targeting women associated with an abused women's shelter might be a turn-on to a violent psychopath," Gil suggested.

"There's a sick thought," Catherine muttered.

Nodding, Gil offered, "Everything about this bastard is sick."

"Sue managed to escape the house in Henderson. He tracked her to _Celebration_… from there to the shelter," Greg summarized. "Keyser has a job running the surveillance equipment… gives him the chance to stalk victims and they never see him."

Nodding, Grissom continued. "That area of town became his comfort zone… we know he frequents that bar… picks up hookers on the stroll near the _Neon Moon_. All of these places are within a ten block radius of each other."

"He fixates Casey," Catherine offered as she picked up their running of the crime. "She's linked to his comfort zone through both the construction site and the shelter, so he feels safe venturing out to follow her… find new victims until he's ready to grab her."

"OK… most of that seems plausible but, if Sue did run away, how did she end up at_ Celebration_? She was trying to get away from him so why head to the place where he works?" Ecklie questioned.

"Yeah… last place she'd go… and most antisocial psychos don't take their victims to work for show and tell," Brass agreed. "Maybe she hid in his car hoping to get away from the house so he'd waste time looking for her in Henderson. She got out at the site, but the crew found her before she could slip out without being seen."

"Keyser goes home and finds her missing… puts the pieces together or time runs out and he has to go back to work… hears about the woman they found... knows which shelter they took her to. Sue's too traumatized to talk initially… that buys Keyser time to get to her before she recovers and outs him as the murderous bastard he is," Catherine supplied. "By that point, he'd fixated on Casey and Sue's become a liability, so he kills her and dumps her body out in the desert."

Frowning, Sam questioned, "Didn't Henderson say the man they thought was Joyner was out of town when she supposedly went missing? Isn't that why they had to let him go?"

Flipping through a stack of files on the left side of his desk, Brass extracted the one he wanted. After a moment, he offered, "Yeah… he supplied them with boarding passes and expense receipts for a trip to Atlanta."

"Atlanta?"

"What it says… went to a convention," Brass supplied, a frown of his own darkening his features. "That doesn't make sense now that we look at it in context of the new information."

"Yeah. What kind of convention does a serial killer attend?" Gil agreed. "I mean… Joyner made sense but Keyser?"

"Maybe a surveillance equipment expo or… something to do with his work for _Tru-Blue_," Greg supplied.

"Possible… but none of these receipts tell the tale," Jim offered. "I'll get the FBI to look into it. There had to be a good reason for him to fly across the country… risk leaving his slave on her own. She'd already tried to escape at least once before, so the trip had to be worth the risk."

"OK… check it out. For now, let's pick up running the case from where I got us sidetracked," Ecklie prompted.

"Well… in addition to the kills linked to the shelter and _Celebration_ area, he falls back on his old standbys… hunting at _Medicine Cabinets_ or picking up prostitutes to rough-up, maybe kill if the mood strikes," Nick began. "Jim… you said the owner of that bar told you Sean has a real hate thing going for hookers, right?"

"Yeah," the senior detective agreed. "So… you're suggesting, since his mother was a pro… was raped and killed by her pimp while he watched, that explains his 'anger issues' with prostitutes?"

"Exactly," the CSI confirmed. "Not a hard stretch to understand why he targeted Justine… drug-addicted hooker with a son she wasn't taking care of. Had to hit way too close to home for someone with his profile."

"That or he saw her throw the bottle at Casey," Greg mused. "If he's obsessed with her like the security guard says, he could have decided to punish Justine for damaging his fantasy woman. The phone call to Casey's cell phone confirms he sees her as 'his'. He's not likely to appreciate anyone else messing with her."

Frowning, Sofia demanded, "If that's true… he can't be happy with Jim. I mean… he had cameras in her house, so he saw…"

"Yeah, we all get that, Sofie," Jim growled, the ruddy tones of his face and throat deepening as he shuffled the papers in front of him to avoid making eye contact with anyone. While Casey had been the intended victim of the killer's stalking, he had been a featured player in many of the resulting videos. The thought that one of his people might see him in the nude or 'in action' gave him new insight into what rape victims endured when they came forward. "Your point?"

Frowning at the top of his head, the younger detective refused to relent. "If he killed Justine, at least in part, because she hurt Casey… don't you think he's got to be royally pissed at you for daring to sleep with her? Add in what the guard told you… you could be his next target, Jim. Think about it! He as much as threatened you when he called Casey."

The resulting silence was broken by Grissom's, "Maybe… but I think, if he was simply angry with Jim, he would have gone after him a long time ago like he did Justine. We know he had the cameras… spied on them from the house on Cobalt. While he may be planning to kill Jim…"

When the scientist failed to immediately complete his observation, Catherine demanded, "What the hell, Gil? You can't leave a comment like that hanging out there! While what?"

"Josie Renaldo… the Tulane student that was his last victim in the Gulf Coast killings… the one he claimed was his 'dead wife'…"

Trading a long-suffering frown with Brass, she pushed, "Yeah? What about her?"

"In one of my conversations with the NOPD, they told me about the death of local judge," Gil supplied, clearly distracted by the thoughts swirling in his head. "Apparently, the man's body was found dumped behind the building where he had an office… coroner said the bullet wound was possibly self-inflicted, but it had been raining the night before he was found, so no GSR. There were bruises and cuts on his arms and legs that the coroner couldn't explain. That, coupled with the fact there was no blood at the scene, made labeling it suicide problematic."

"OK… what does…"

"He'd been having an affair with Josie Renaldo… she was a law school student clerking in his office," Grissom supplied. "He disappeared about the same time as she did. NOPD suspected he was the one that killed her, but lacked any evidence to prove it. Remember… they didn't know they had a serial at that point and treated the case as a standalone."

After a brief pause, he continued. "Based on what NOPD had, they decided he'd killed himself out of remorse… that someone had found the body and dumped it behind his office hoping to make it look like a robbery or mugging gone back… maybe even cover his involvement in Josie's murder. The bruises and cuts… the lack of any physical evidence linking him to her killing prevented them from closing the case… a nice theory with nothing to prove it."

Taking a deep breath, Jim growled, "Does this story have a purpose or are you just practicing your oratory skills?"

"The detective that told me this story felt pretty bad about the hard time he'd given the judge's wife. He'd assumed she was the one that dumped the body," the CSI recalled, ignoring his friend's sarcasm. "He told me the story because he'd been to see her the night before to tell her that her husband wasn't a murderer after all… just an adulterer that may have killed himself over the death of his much younger lover. Needless to say, that meeting hadn't gone well."

"Gil… where the hell is this leading?" Ecklie demanded.

"Josie Renaldo was Keyser's last known victim in New Orleans. She was uncommonly beautiful, top of her class in law school, and had been having an affair with an older authority figure… a judge," he repeated. "And, NOPD now thinks she was the 'common denominator' for connecting their cases… much like Casey appears to be in ours."

"And?"

Fixing Jim with an unwavering stare, he concluded, "What if the judge didn't commit suicide but was murdered? Having heard the details of Sean McMullen's childhood, I think it's possible he's been reenacting the murders of both his mother and grandmother… playing the parts of both the killer and the avenger."

"What the hell…"

"Think about it," he interjected. "Sean was a toddler when he witnessed his mother being raped and strangled by her pimp… an authority figure under those circumstances, especially to a small child. Her killer was found shot to death less than a week after his release from jail… in the side of the head just like the judge… like all the men we found in the graves at the Nichols ranch. They all fit his MO. Someone fitting Sean's description was seen in the alley at the time of the pimp's murder… he was a suspect, fled town to avoid the police."

"Ten years after his mother's murder, his grandfather killed his grandmother… and Sean either witnessed or walked in on it," Gil reminded them. "Again, the grandfather was the authority figure in his life and he was shot in the aftermath of his grandmother's murder… also in the side of the head and Sean was the principle suspect in his death. Look at it… we have raped, strangled victims… ritualized shootings of the men."

"OK, but…"

"Maybe I'm being overly dramatic, but… those facts sound a lot like the facts of the murders of Josie and her lover, _Nikos Thomopolis_," he concluded. "And they sound startlingly similar to the facts of our case… Casey, a beautiful, successful career woman and Jim, a police captain heading up the investigation into the Strangler. I think he's obsessed not only with Casey, but the ultimate authority figure in his world."

Horrified, Jim exclaimed, "Are you suggesting he plans to try and make me rape and kill Cas…"

"No," his friend interjected. "I'm suggesting he plans to make you watch helplessly while he rapes and tortures her… then kills you. From what he said to Casey, he plans to keep her as his slave… at least as long as she behaves and he doesn't get bored with her… he booked passage for them both to leave the country. He told Casey he plans to make you pay… so, how better than to kill you with her suffering as your last memory?"

-----

A/N --- 10 points to the first person that gets the significance of the name _Nikos Thomopolis_. WEG!! Bonus points to Beaujolais and Captainbrass for their sleuthing skills. I loved that you each picked up on some of the clues in earlier chapters! I wanted to comment then, but that would spoil the fun! Jim was very impressed!

4-18-2010


	32. Chapter 32 The Abyss

Title: By Design, Chapter 32

Author: Sorsha_711  
Fandom/Pairing: CSI; Brass/OCF  
Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations  
Disclaimer: A quick check of my bank account should prove I'm not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh! Anything you recognize belongs to the good people that bring us CSI.  
Summary: A serial killer is stalking the streets of Vegas… hell of a time for Brass to meet the woman of his dreams.

"_Battle not with monsters lest ye become a monster  
…if you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes into you."_

_Friedrich Nietzsche_

By Design, Chapter 32 --- The Abyss

-----

Looking up from the sheath of papers in his hand, Jim demanded, "How much of this is fact and how much is perp fiction?"

Shrugging his shoulders, Professor Russ Ferguson offered, "My best guess… the essentials are fairly accurate, but the rest… it's pretty distorted by his own warped image of himself. The hard part is figuring out where the line separating the two is. I'm not a psychiatrist, so I'm not the one to get you inside his head. These are just my thoughts… reactions as much as anything. I've mostly stuck with giving you literal translations of what he wrote… for what those are worth."

"OK… so, you're read the entire journal?"

"No," the professor qualified. "All I've had time to finish so far is a translation of the parts that deal with his time in Vegas… I was hoping for something that might help find him."

"I take it you haven't found much to help us so far," Brass replied, disappointed by the news.

"Actually, I think I have… I've highlighted the sections that should help," the professor noted, leaning over to add a few more pages to the stack. "Connie extracted them and put them all together as bullet points. I also drafted a summery of my thoughts… opinions based on the passages I've read in detail. It's preliminary since I still have a lot to translate, but I wanted to give you everything I had so far. Some of it should help."

"OK… so he killed Connor Edwards because he saw him grab Megan Waring… he's getting sloppy," Brass read, focused on the first report. "Yeah… looks like we have locations on a couple of bodies still out there… been expecting that. OK, so… he's preparing for… what the hell is the final battle you've highlighted?"

"Frankly, I'm not sure… but, my best guess is it's his big finale before he leaves Vegas," Russ proposed. "Most of this is sounds like delusional fantasy to me. He uses phrases like 'time of reckoning' and his years of 'testing'. He's obsessed with some imagined mission… some higher calling he thinks he has. It's very confusing… and disturbing."

Frowning, Brass pressed, "Mission? I need more than that…"

"I'd love to give you more, but I haven't found an explanation yet. I'm not sure it's there to find… and translating this crap isn't as easy as reading something in a foreign language, Jim," Russ cautioned. "The alphabet isn't a perfect one-to-one comparison… the runes are handwritten, so the quality of the script isn't consistent… requires some guesswork on my part to fill in the gaps. It's obvious he's self-taught… some of it is almost illegible. It's slow go at best."

"Yeah, OK. I **do** get that," Jim responded. "We really appreciate your help on this."

Sighing, the professor offered, "I need to finish reading the entire journal… slowly and methodically, to try and connect the dots. Until I have more… a few things stand out."

"OK," Jim urged, "…let's hear it."

Nodding, his friend began, "First and most apparent to a layman… he has no empathy for his victims… no remorse for any of the people he's hurt over the years. In my opinion, he's not playing with a full deck… or maybe he is but he's so completely devoid of the normal expressions of humanity I can't wrap my mind around his thoughts."

"Give me an example…"

"He laughs about his victims begging for mercy… thinks it's a funny," Russ supplied, a shudder of unease racking his body. "He thinks he's destined for greatness… that the rest of us are just peons that serve his needs and ambitions. He's clearly highly intelligent and… adaptive, but… I don't think his oars have been close to the water in years. Hell, they may have been stowed from birth."

Looking up from Ferguson's notes, Brass pressed, "OK, but do you have **any** ideas of what he thinks his great destiny is? I know you're not finished translating, but… what's your gut telling you?"

"It's sketchy at best… at least in the parts I've read so far," Ferguson admitted. "I've backtracked… skimmed earlier sections hoping for more. I suspect there are other journals out there… that much of this won't be clear until you find them. Sorry."

"Hey, no apologies needed," Jim insisted. "I'm tired and frustrated, not complaining. I appreciate the help."

"I get that. I've always been a little envious of your work," the professor admitted, a rueful smile failing to brighten his features. "It sounds so much more exciting than what I do, but… I never realized… I honestly don't know how you do this year after year."

Sighing, the policeman offered, "Some days, neither do I. What else?"

"Well, like I said, it's clear he has no remorse for any of his crimes," Russ continued, "…no empathy or sympathy for his victims… and he never forgets a slight. Revenge is a big deal to him. Violence seems to be… a part of his nature. He's calculating… plans most of his kills down to the smallest detail, but… the propensity for sudden violence is always there… and his control seems to be slipping. A year ago he would have berated himself for being too impulsive… undisciplined. Now, he seems to revel in unplanned carnage. His planned kills don't seem to satisfy him anymore. He hasn't mentioned… he used to write in detail about his pleasure… sexual and psychological after each murder. Now…"

"Now?"

"I making some assumptions here, but he may be impotent… or the killing has lost its savor for him," the professor speculated, the revulsion this part of the report caused clear in his voice. "He hasn't mentioned getting any type of pleasure from any of his kills in… a month or more. I can try to nail it down if it would help."

"Yeah, it would. We'd come to the same conclusion based on the evidence, but having it in his own words might give us an accurate gauge of his state of mind," Brass admitted.

Leaning back in his chair so that he could study the ceiling of Brass' office, Ferguson mused, "The frightening part is… he knows he sees the world differently than the rest of us… that he's operating outside the norms of the rest of society. He understands what he has to do to evade notice and, for the most part, fit in… it's a game to him. He watches tv and movies like they're documentaries… guides to 'putting on the false skin of the animals' that share his world… his words by the way. True crime and forensics shows are his favorites… they 'hone his skills'."

"Growing problem… damned shows are a how-to on police procedures," Jim groused. "I stopped watching them years ago… I nitpick what they get wrong and complain about what they get right. Not my idea of unwinding after a long day of the real thing."

"Yeah… I can see that," Ferguson acknowledged. "Keyser seems to be a fan of the _Law & Order _shows… especially the one about the rape investigation unit. He also likes the one with the guy from _Forest Gump_… you know, Major Dan. Can't remember his name, but you know the one I mean."

"Seen it a few times," Jim agreed. "At least it's better than the one with the guy famous for showing his ass on tv. He couldn't act his way out of a paper bag."

A brief lull in the conversation preceded, "The bottom line is… none of us matter beyond his desires… his needs. The rest of us are inferior to him in his worldview. He tolerates us up to a point… as long as it serves his purpose, but… if we get in his way or don't show him the proper respect… a woman crosses his path that he decides should be his, he takes… he tortures and kills without compulsion or regret. He sees something he wants… someone else's money or belongings… it's all there for the taking. The only thing that keeps him under some vague semblance of restraint is the need to not call unwelcome attention to himself. He's fanatical about not getting caught."

"So he knows right from wrong…"

Holding up his hand to interrupt the question, Ferguson cautioned, "He doesn't operate by our rules, Jim. Like I said, he doesn't think they apply to him… but, yeah, he does know how **we** define right and wrong. Apparently, it's another of the many ways we're inferior to him… we need a social construct to survive and he doesn't."

Reaching for his cup of coffee, he added, "He brags about not being arrested… not even questioned by police since he was a teenager back east. He shatters the rules and then laughs when those charged with enforcing them can't find him. The more heinous the crime, the bigger the thrill it gives him. I don't know the clinical term to describe him… but he scares the hell out of me."

"I'll send a copy of your draft to the shrinks working the investigation with us," Brass replied. "I'm sure they have some nice neat labels they can slap on him… none of which changes anything."

"Good idea. Until then, I've come to one other overriding conclusion… he's obsessed with you," Ferguson interjected. "He's chosen Casey as his ideal mate… but you've become just as significant to him, maybe more so."

"Me? Why… because of Case?" Jim demanded, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling as his friend's comments made his skin crawl.

"Not entirely," his friend cautioned. "Understanding his obsession with her is fairly obvious and straightforward. She's beautiful, successful, intelligent, and influential. Frankly… she's everything he both desires and hates in women. He wants her exactly as she is… and he wants to break her… bend her to his will. The other women he's killed… they were just playthings… no real meaning to him. Casey has obsessed him for years."

Sitting up straight, Jim exclaimed, "Years? What the hell does that mean? From what we've pulled together…"

Holding up his hand to halt the stunned flow of questions, Ferguson elaborated, "I'm reading between the lines here… some of the details are probably in earlier journals, but… he first saw a picture of Casey when she was still married to her first husband… a society page photo I think. He was still living on the east coast at the time. He went as far as to go to New York a couple of times with plans to grab her."

"My god!"

"Yeah," Russ agreed, horrified by what might have been. "Before he could act on the impulse, he had some 'great revelation'… an epiphany where his destiny was revealed to him. Somehow she fits into it… how is pretty murky. He's kept an eye on her ever since. There are repeated references to her scattered throughout the journal… when you find him, you'll probably find a scrapbook with clippings… pictures… who knows. He writes about going to see her give a speech in Atlanta a few years ago… stood behind her in an elevator in the hotel where she was staying… considered grabbing her then. Hell, he's been stalking her for over twenty years."

"Atlanta?"

Frowning, the younger man nodded in confirmation. "Is that significant?"

Rubbing his eyes in an agitated manner, Jim hedged, "Maybe. Do you have a date for when…"

"Yeah… he's anal about dating everything," Ferguson supplied, flipping through his copy of his report. "Yeah… page 6… third paragraph."

"Got it." Forcing down the bile churning in his stomach, Jim demanded, "Why has he waited this long go after her?"

"Like I said… it's all tied up in this destiny crap," the professor repeated. "My best guess is he believes she's his final reward… his mission has to be completed before he can claim his prize."

Frustrated, Jim growled, "Prize for what??"

"I can't make delusional make sense, Jim, no matter how hard I try, especially with only have half the story to work with," Russ retorted. "The journal reads like he believes he's on some… shit, a mythic quest as ridiculous as that sounds. The last twenty years have been all about preparation and training so he'd be ready when the time comes. He's honed his skills in weapons, tactical strategy… killing. He's learned to survive in our world… computers, banking and internet services… disguises. It was all part of his 'time of proving' he calls it. Hell, it all has a medieval feel to it… Arthurian even. I'd put good money on that being the reason he's using runes to write this shit."

"So how the hell do I fit into Wacko'land?"

"Not to sound like I'm being glib, but it depends on the day. In some entries, you're his equal… opposite him in every impulse, but still an equal," Ferguson explained. "In others, you're just one of the animals… their champion, but his inferior. Casey is the prize for the eventual winner of the final battle… and he thinks he's pre-ordained to be the winner, so he's becoming more and more daring… reckless. Why not? If you know the outcome, there's no real risk in his world view."

"So… he came to Vegas to fight some battle… win Casey?"

"Not initially. There was some business with a house… he was stalking another couple and tracked them here," Ferguson agreed. "But… Vegas holds a special symbolism for him. His father was a boxer… fought a title bout here… lost. Winning his father's respect is a big deal to him… but he hates him… blames him for ruining his life. I don't know the whole story… again, the earlier journals would probably help fill in the gaps."

Pausing to sip his coffee, Russ added, "Not to put too fine a point on it, fighting his 'final battle' here is his chance to show his dad up. The whole Vegas rep… sin city and all that crap. Once he got a taste of the spotlight… he's obsessed with his own fame."

"Yeah, we've figured that out," Jim admitted. "So… he didn't initially plan to setup shop here?"

"I suspect he was hoping he'd end up here, but no… I get the feeling he ended up here more than moved here deliberately. Keep in mind it was around that time Casey started coming here for the Celebration project… then moved here," Russ continued. "He was sure this was the sign he'd been looking for… convinced him his time had come. He wrote a lot about the 'forces of the world' aligning in his favor."

"'The world revolves around me'… even my kid outgrew that delusion… eventually," Jim groused. "He sounds like…"

"…an angry teenager," Russ agreed. "I have two so I know the score. This bastard acts and sounds like he never matured beyond the mindset of a twelve or thirteen year old. I don't know if that's symptomatic of his bigger mental profile. Not my field."

"Got it," Brass acknowledged. "Anything else?"

Nodding, the professor offered, "There was another woman… the wife in the couple with the house I mentioned. Taking her was supposed to represent the final test he'd set himself. Her husband was a banker… a computer expert. He designed computer games… one Keyser was obsessed with, so defeating him and claiming her was supposed to prove he was ready. He even had her tattooed with drawings he'd made to illustrate his quest as a way of celebrating his victory. But his prize escaped and he had to hunt her down. That made him doubt himself… he had begun to question if he was really ready."

"Sue McGovern. Those tatts helped us ID her," Jim muttered.

"He called her Rose."

"Same woman." His voice was little more than a growl as he asked, "He risked taking her out to have her tattooed? All she had to do was alert someone she was in trouble and we'd have gotten her out… nailed the bastard before most of the recent victims were killed!"

"Yeah… he brags about that," Russ confirmed. "He had a semi-automatic with him… threatened to kill her and anybody in the vicinity if she made any trouble. He thought it was funny that she was too worried about a bunch of strangers' lives to try and save her own."

"Damn!"

"Yeah."

After a moment, Jim asked, "Did he name the game he was so hot for? Maybe we can get some clues from studying it."

"Yeah… _Eater of Souls_. I looked it up on the web. It's based on ancient Egyptian beliefs about the afterlife," Ferguson reported. "They believed the dead had to negotiate their way through a series of trials in the underworld before their survival was assured… the final step was the weighing of the heart. If their heart was too heavy, it was fed to Ammut, the eater of souls and they didn't live happily ever after. Apparently, the game replaced magical spells and a pure heart with blood sport as the means to win eternal life."

"Right… it sounds like a blast. I'll get us a copy," Jim replied, adding a note to his pad. "Maybe there's something in it. Long shot, but… who knows."

Nodding, Ferguson continued. "Anyway, he killed one of his victims… Tina Ortiz I think, for daring to help 'his slave'… killed a prostitute for hurting Casey. In fact, he'd almost convinced himself that was the real reason he was 'called' to Vegas… to defend her from evil forces as they both waited for the time of their shared destiny. He had started making plans to go to Seattle until the time was right."

"Seattle? Why Seattle?"

Shrugging his shoulders in a weary fashion, Russ speculated, "I think he chose Seattle out of some twisted desire to 'best' Bundy and the Greenriver Killer… but you showed up and everything changed."

Rubbing his hands across his face, Jim pressed, "How did I change things?"

Sighing, Ferguson offered, "He decided you were the foe he was destined to defeat."

Brass blew out a frustrated breath. "What the… why me?"

His hand shook slightly as the professor leaned over to put his empty mug on Brass's desk. "He saw you on tv… your name was in news reports about his crimes. You were the first one to start pulling the threads of his great epic together… to make the world take notice of him. He was watching the day you met Casey… the two of you getting involved. It was the confirmation he'd been seeking… convinced him he was ready to defeat the 'foe I was born to slay'. That's you."

"How..."

"Think about it like this… every Moriarty needs his Sherlock Holmes, the Emperor had Luke Skywalker…"

"And Boris had Rocky and Bullwinkle," Brass muttered. "Your point?"

"Damn it, Jim, I'm serious," Ferguson admonished. "You need…"

"I know this is serious! I'm the one that's been pulling mutilated bodies out of ditches for the past year!" Brass bit out. "You're the one bringing Luke 'fucking' Skywalker into…"

"Would Beowulf and Grendel have been better?" Ferguson retorted. "His guy isn't like most killers… he doesn't just kill for the thrill or because he's evil… a least that's what he tells himself in this damned journal. Keyser actually believes he's a on some goddamned quest. My best guess is he believes it's his destiny to usher in a new world order with him coming out on top… Casey broken at his feet. Maybe defeating you opens the door to paradise…"

"You're putting too much emphasis on…"

"Like hell I am! I can tell you he has delusions of grandeur… wants to put all women back in 'their place'… wants respect and power, but none of that gets you any closer to finding this son-of-a-bitch," Ferguson proclaimed. "You and the rest of the task force have been focused on finding him by following his crimes… the women he's killing, hoping to get him before he skips town."

"That's how it's done, professor. What are you suggesting…"

"What I'm **telling** you is," his friend insisted, "he's not going anywhere until he defeats **YOU**… simply killing you isn't what he's after or he'd have done that already. Hell, he writes about having you in the sights of a rifle… laughing that you don't even know he held your life in his hands. You're the key, not Casey."

Sagging back into his chair, Jim took a few minutes to process this new perspective, its jarring similarity to Grissom's latest theory. "We've been warned he was becoming increasingly unstable… was edging toward a total psychotic break. Does the journal support that conclusion?"

Looking up from his study of the carpet in Brass' office, Russ admitted, "Layman's opinion, I'd say yes… unequivocally. The portions written recently… say, the ones from the last six months have become more rambling and disjointed… erratic, but Steve Baldwin and his team will be better able to give you a reading on his state of mind… not my field of expertise."

Startled, Brass demanded, "How the hell do you know… I hadn't mentioned who we've been working with? His team has been working off the radar… need to know only."

Sighing, Ferguson explained, "I read it in the journal. If he's being truthful, he put on one of his disguises and slipped into the offices where they've been doing their research. He boasts about planting a bug to listen in on their conversations. He heard them calling him Keyser… attribute the name to you. He went out and rented the movie… found it highly amusing and fitting. Hell, he wrote it was confirmation you were 'the one' since you recognized him too."

"Damn! We've been wondering if we had a leak, but…" Jim whispered. "If he got in there… what's to keep him from…"

"He tried to get into LVPD and the crime lab several times, but was royally pissed that security prevented it," Ferguson promised, easily understanding what had spooked the policeman. "Check if you must, but… he would have gloated if he'd managed to set a bug on your turf. He considered going to your house, but decided there were better risks to take."

"I've already checked. It occurred to me after…"

When his friend failed to complete his thought, Ferguson nudged, "You found the cameras at Casey's? I was trying to figure out a way to tell you, so… how's she doing?"

"About like you'd expect," Jim muttered, leaning his head back against the headrest of his chair. "She's staying busy… volunteered to cook for the troops. I guess its helping.

You're welcome to join me for lunch if you'd like to see her."

"Yeah, I would," Russ admitted. "Reading about… yeah, I would."

Nodding, Jim pressed, "I take it he… wrote about what he saw?"

"Yeah… he was all over the place in his reactions."

Exhausted by the conversation, Brass forced himself to ask, "How so?"

"Some of the entries were… he was homicidal that you dared touch… others… he seemed to find watching…"

Realizing Ferguson was as uncomfortable with this line of discussion as he was, Brass held up his hand to stop the answer. "Right… got it. Anything else?"

Relieved to have that part of his report behind him, Russ added, "He ranted for several pages about the mistake he made in not planting bugs while he was there. When he installed the cameras… apparently, he hadn't foreseen her getting involved with you or he would have. He wrote at length that it all made sense in retrospect… part of your shared destiny. He said repeatedly he should have 'anticipated' the way this would play out… whatever that means. Bottom line, it's made him more 'diligent' in preparing for the final battle."

"OK… what is this final battle crap? Does he say anything that will get us started in formulating a game plan?" Jim demanded.

"Frankly… not much. I'm not sure he knows… the specifics are pretty fluid, changing depending on his mood," Ferguson replied. "Ultimately, he believes his destiny will be revealed at 'the time of fire and ice', so it doesn't seem to bother him. I'm guessing here… but I think he has planned for several eventualities… places to hide, weapons stashed where he can get to them in an emergency… bugs and cameras to give him eyes and ears. None of it was detailed enough for me to give you addresses or names."

"What the hell is 'the time of fire and ice'?"

"That I can explain. It's a term he uses to describe the start of the final battle… he regularly quotes a poem by Robert Frost… _Fire and Ice_. I found a copy online and printed it out for you," Ferguson supplied, passing him another sheet of paper.

Taking the printout, Brass read aloud, "_Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice. From what I've tasted of desire, I hold with those who favor fire. But if it had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate to say that for destruction ice is also great and would suffice_."

"Keyser wrote a fairly long analysis of the poem. He found it a long time ago and has been studying it for… hell, who knows what he thinks it's telling him," the professor complained. "All I can say is the time and place of the final battle seem to be dependent on the flow of events rather than a specific, set time. There's nothing in the poem or his critique to tie it down to a specific event or anything else I can identify."

"Fire and ice? Is that literal or just more of his grand delusions?"

"I have no idea… it could be either or both."

"Right… why expect a whack job to make this easy on us," Jim acknowledged. "I'll have the station swept again to be on the safe side… and I need to let Baldwin know they've been compromised. They need to make sure they protect Dr. Martinez and the other women working on the project. If he can get in to plant the bug…"

"…he could get in to grab one of them too," the professor agreed. "Don't take this the wrong way, Jim, but I can't wait to go back to academia and the fictional bad guys. The real ones are way too real for me."

"Yeah, I feel like that most days."

-----

"What have we got?"

Flipping open his pad as he turned to face his commanding officer, Vega offered, "We got a call from the branch manager just after one. A young man… ID in his wallet says he's Ernesto Valdez, tried to cash one of the bogus checks we used for the auction wins. The bank guard detained him until a patrol could get here."

"OK," Brass acknowledged, glancing at his watch to establish a timeframe. It was 1:33. "How did that lead to a Code 3 and a shootout?"

Pointing to the fast food restaurant next door to the bank, Sam explained, "Second patrol responding from Tropicana noticed a man fitting Keyser's physical description heading away from the bank into the parking lot of _Choozy's Chicken_. They turned around and went after him."

Fierce blue eyes fixed Vega with a hard stare. "Tell me they have him."

"No. He opened fire on Bevins and Padilla… after a brief exchange he fled out the back of the parking lot, down the alley that runs to the next street over… S. Clemmons," Vega continued. "The suspect then jacked a car at the light… tossed the driver onto the asphalt and took off. Padilla got there in time to prevent her being run over by oncoming traffic, but the shooter got away. We have a citywide out on her car… black 2005 Corolla."

"Is the driver…"

"Elderly woman… probable broken hip… shock, but alive and on her way to the hospital," Sam reported. "Officer Bevins took a bullet to his right shoulder… through and through. EMS is treating him… probably need to transport."

"What else do we have on him… clothing, hair color…"

"Tan long-sleeve work shirt and jeans… long black hair pulled back into a ponytail," Sam supplied.

"Right…" Jim began, only to turn toward the parking lot in response to Greg Sanders' shout.

"Jim… you need to see this," the young CSI called, waving for them to join him at the rear of the parking lot.

Jogging over with Vega at his heels, he demanded, "You find something?"

Pointing to the side of a dumpster at the back of the fast food restaurant, Greg observed, "Fresh blood splatter… looks like he got hit… in the shoulder or upper body given the height of the spray. There's a blood trail down the alley leading to the intersection."

"Shoulder?" Brass demanded. "Are you sure the suspect's the one that was hit? Bevins…"

Interrupting, Greg pointed back toward the restaurant. "Bevins was shot back there, so this blood can't be his… has to be Keyser's."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Jim ordered. "I don't want any of us going off half-cocked assuming it's him. We need to be sure of our facts… too much at stake to get this wrong."

"Yeah, but… OK, right," the younger man reluctantly agreed. "I'll get a blood sample back to Wendy a'sap."

Pulling out his cell phone, Brass keyed his push-to-talk to transmit an APB to all on-duty personnel. "This is Charlie 203, Captain Brass. The suspect in the carjacking at Clemmons and Elliot is wounded and bleeding heavily. Be on the lookout for a white male, early forties, long black hair, 6', 190 lbs with a gunshot wound to his upper body…. tan work shirt and jeans. Dispatch, alert local hospitals and trauma centers to be on the look out. Wounded, he might try to grab someone to treat his injuries. Suspect is armed and **extremely** dangerous. Approach with caution. Repeat… suspect is armed and is **extremely** dangerous."

-----

A/N --- Yes, I know there was a lot of 'talk' at the beginning of the chapter, but I needed to pull together a lot of the threads and set the stage for the final chapters. Yep… the final battle is on!

4-25-2010


	33. Chapter 33 Wanted: Dead or Alive

Title: By Design, Chapter 33

Author: Sorsha_711  
Fandom/Pairing: CSI; Brass/OCF  
Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations  
Disclaimer: A quick check of my bank account should prove I'm not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh! Anything you recognize belongs to the good people that bring us CSI.  
Summary: A serial killer is stalking the streets of Vegas… hell of a time for Brass to meet the woman of his dreams.

"_Sometimes I sleep, sometimes it's not for days  
and the people I meet, always go their separate way  
Sometimes you tell the day by the bottle that you drink  
and times when you're all alone, all you do is think."_

_Jon Bongiovi and Richard Sambora_

By Design, Chapter 33 --- Wanted: Dead or Alive

"OK, Mr. Valdez," Brass began, the door to the interrogation room swinging shut behind him, "…I don't have time to play games. Who gave you the check you tried to cash?"

"I did nothing wrong!" Valdez began. "I was just doing a guy a favor. Nothing wrong in that."

"Let me spell it out for you," Jim countered, fixing the younger man with a fierce glare. "You attempted to cash a check made out to a _Searchlight Collectibles_. If you're the owner of that business, you're guilty of accepting stolen goods taken during the commission of capital murder… which, at a minimum, makes you an accessory after the fact. If you're not the owner of that business, you were illegally cashing that check. If you want to go home to your family while you're still young enough to walk without a cane, you damned well better start talking. Are we clear?"

"Murder? Wait… SHIT, I saw you on TV last night talking about…" The man's face blanched of all color as he whispered, "He was the Strangler?"

"How did you get that check?"

"Goddamn… he was!"

"I don't have time to play games! Maybe I'm being too generous thinking you're just a gullible idiot he conned into helping him with the check… maybe you're his partner," Brass suggested, hoping to scare the man into talking. "Maybe I should just toss your sorry ass into the nearest cell and call it a day! Your bunkmates find out you're working with the Strangler…"

Frightened by the bluff, the younger man insisted, "I got nothing to do with no murders, man! I just met the dude! Hell, if he's the Strangler, I'll help you! My wife and sisters are scared to go out 'cos of him."

"You just met him and he trusts you enough to give you a check for over $800? That's pretty damned trusting if you ask me," Brass pressed. "How did you meet?"

"It was like this… I was coming out of _Choozy's_… you know, after my lunch. This guy was by the door… asked if I'd like to make $50 easy… swore it was legal!" Valdez began. "Honest man… he said he'd lost his ID and needed the money to get home to LA. I felt for the guy… and 50 bucks… who turns down easy money like that?"

"What name did he give you?"

"Said his name was Joyce or something like that," the young man offered. "Honest man…"

"Joyner?"

"Yeah, that's it!" his witness agreed. "Aaron or… maybe Eric. He had a credit card with the name on it, but he said he'd lost his license, so the bank wouldn't cash it without a picture ID. Said I could say I was his business partner and cash it, no problem."

"Did he have a car or was he on foot?"

"I don't know man… he was leaning against the trash can by the door on the side and…" he began. "Wait! He had keys in his hand… kept rattling them, nervous like. His hand was shaking bad… twitching. I thought… hell, I thought he was just worried about getting home."

Turning toward the door, Brass ordered the uniformed officer standing to one side, "Friedman… Mr. Valdez is going to be our guest for a while. Make sure he stays here until I say otherwise. No one talks to him except members of the task force… no phone calls. If he tries, charge him with hindering prosecution. I don't want him blabbing to his wife and the press getting wind of this… maybe screw things up by getting in our way."

Flipping open his phone as he walked of the room, he requested, "Yeah, Gil. Get Sanders to print the trashcan at the side entrance of _Choozy's_. Suspect was leaning against it while he waited on a patsy… and have him check the parking lot. Valdez says…"

"Mall patrols found the stolen Corolla in the parking lot of the Outlet Mall," Sofia began as Jim answered his phone. "They were responding to a report of a disturbance about twenty minutes ago. First reports indicate an armed man may have jacked another ride… this time taking at least one hostage."

"Damn! Do we know the make of the missing vehicle?" Jim demanded.

"SUV is all I have at the moment. I'm on my way to the mall's security office to view the tape," she replied. "I'll let you know as soon as I have something more."

"Suspect jumped a man getting into a dark green Cadillac Escalade… Nevada tag… here's the number," Sofia reported, as Brass and Vega entered the security room. "There was a woman in the passenger seat. He forced the man to drive, so he has two hostages. The tag has a medical insignia; the RO is probably a doctor."

"Do we know who that is?"

"Mathew Steven McClain… Green Valley address," was the reply. "CSI is going over the Corolla and will get it processed A'sap. Nick found a cell phone under a car next to where the Escalade was parked. He's running it to see if it's Keyser's or McClain's. He also found a piece of what he thinks is a facial prosthetic… part of a disguise maybe that got knocked off during the struggle. DNA has it and we'll know something shortly."

"Do we have film of the gunman?"

Nodding, she handed him a printout of a screenshot from the video feed. "Judging by the size of the stain on his shirt, he's lost a lot of blood."

"I want him found before he looses the rest," Jim ordered. "We need him alive if possible… I want answers and dead men don't talk."

"Well… he has a doctor, so the odds of that may have gone up," Sofia reasoned.

"OK, I'll…"

"One other thing… we've reviewed the tape to see the lead-up to the jacking," she reported. "The woman in the video looks to be pregnant… very pregnant."

"What have we got, Jim?"

Turning to greet the Sheriff as he bent to pass under the crime tape strung around the parking lot, Brass reported, "Dr. McClain and his wife haven't been seen since they were abducted from this parking lot approximately an hour ago. The owner of the Corolla is in Desert Palms… names Rebecca Oliver. She has a broken hip and a concussion, but is expected to recover thanks to Officer Padilla's quick actions getting her out of traffic. Officer Bevins lost a lot of blood, so they're keeping him overnight, but he should be ok."

Nodding, Burdick demanded, "Are we any closer to catching this son-of-a-bitch?"

"I hope so, but with this bastard…who the hell knows," Jim hedged, "Look… we recovered an old grey Buick LeSabre from the parking lot at _Choozy's_ … matches the descriptions of the one neighbors reported he was driving at the Cobalt Lane house. It still has Louisiana plates… RO is Martin Lewis… New Orleans address, nothing local. CSI is processing it along with the Corolla… looking for anything that gives us an address or a clue where to look for him."

Sighing, he concluded, "Otherwise we have an armed, wounded, and very dangerous man out there with two more kidnap victims, one of which is 8 months pregnant, and no idea where to find them."

"That's all you can tell us?" Burdick demanded, his frustration giving his voice bite.

"Based on the amount of blood on the seat of the Corolla, he's badly wounded," Jim offered, rubbing his stiff neck in hopes of finding some relief. "I'm concentrating the search in the northern part of the city. He risked driving halfway across town in a stolen car… my gut says he has a safe house in the area… several passages in his journal mention his 'planning' for the final battle by setting up several 'havens'. Since we know that area is his comfort zone… I'm betting it still is."

Nodding, the Sheriff asked, "Has Phil Kane and his team given you anything on the portions of the journal Dr. Ferguson has translated so far?"

"A few fancy terms and a list of 'conditions' they think Keyser suffers from, but nothing new in my opinion," Jim groused. "At this point, I don't care if he thinks he's the Easter Bunny. Russ found enough details in with the delusional ravings to point us toward the northern end of the city. That fits with his known hunting patterns, so I'm going with it."

"OK… what else?"

"Just the obvious… he grabbed a doctor and made him drive… probably expecting him to treat his wounds. I have no idea how long he'll keep them alive… my best guess is only as long as he thinks he needs them," Jim summarized. "Since Caroline McClain is eight months pregnant, he has a doctor that will do whatever Keyser demands to try and save his family… so, he couldn't have found a better hostage it he'd planned it."

"Goddamn it!!! Is this the straw that sends him over the edge… the psychotic break Kane's been predicting?" the Sheriff demanded.

"If its not, it'll do till the real thing comes along."

"Bill… Conrad. We caught a break," Brass shouted, waving his superiors over as he opened the door to his car. "Keyser must be weakened from blood loss because McClain managed to overpower him long enough for his wife and him to escape. I have every available officer in the field canvassing the area where he was last seen."

"The McClains… they're safe?" Burdick demanded,

"Yeah. He made McClain drive him to a boarded-up building on Western… backs up to 15," he explained, sliding behind the wheel. "One of the patrols canvassing the area found them on Industrial trying to flag down a car. Mrs. McClain was in labor, so they transported them straight to the hospital. McClain was bruised and bloody… but walking under his own power. I've flooded the area with everything we've got available... SWAT is doing a door to door search."

"Are you heading to the scene?"

"Yeah… I'm headed there now," he concluded, starting the engine of his car. "We've got him wounded, weakened, and on the run. This ends tonight."

Walking into the gloom of the boarded up building, Jim paused to study the scene. Several members of the task force appeared at his side within seconds of his arrival. Glancing to his right, he nodded to Grissom. "Well… it looks like we've found Henry Woods' tractor trailer rig."

Nodding, Gil observed, "I'm guessing Keyser's been living in the sleeper compartment of the cab since we found his other rat holes."

"Yeah… score one for the good guys," Brass muttered. "Is it just me… or does the thought of what might be inside that trailer make you skin crawl?"

Catherine answered for them all. "Hell yes… so let's get this over with."

Reaching out to grab her arm as she started forward, Jim countered, "Hang back and let us check it first. He could be hiding in there… or it might be rigged like the house at Cobalt."

"The Escalade is gone," Greg observed. "I thought the first officers on the scene said a witness told them it tore out of here right before they arrived."

"Witnesses have been known to be wrong… and she didn't see who was behind the wheel," Brass pointed out. "Move back behind the doors and let us do our job… then you can do yours."

Brass returned within a few minutes. "The back of the trailer is open… he must have opened it when he brought in the doctor and his wife… didn't take time to lock it back before he took off."

"OK…"

Holding up his hand to interrupt the CSI, Jim added, "There're wires crisscrossing the chasse… I'm guessing it's rigged. The bomb squad is on the way. They clear it before any of us set foot…"

"Captain Brass!"

Turning toward the young officer running in his direction, he acknowledged, "Yeah… what have you got?"

"911 just got a call… someone drove an Escalade through the back gate at _Celebration Centre_," she responded. "Shots were fired… at least two of their guards were wounded."

Nodding, he looked over at Sofia. "Wait on Sanchez to arrive and turn the scene over to him, then go talk to Dr. McClain… see what he can tell you about Keyser's condition."

Seeing her nod, he concluded, "Gil… you and your crew are on the sidelines until Sanchez gives you the green light… and stay the hell away from _Celebration Centre_ until I clear you. I don't want any of your CSI's in the line of fire until we have the site secured."

"He managed to take out the guards on this side of the site before taking cover in the main _Canyon Falls_ building. The first dozen floors are buttoned up, but the upper floors are mostly exposed girders. He could be anywhere in there by now," the unformed officer that greeted him at the gate reported. "I just heard that patrols have blocked off the other gates, so I don't see any way he can escape."

"I wish I shared your confidence," Brass growled. "What about the underground parking and the tracks for the subway… are they covered too? We don't want him slipping out under our feet."

"I'm… not sure, Captain. I didn't know about those areas," the young man admitted.

Muttering, Jim pulled out his phone. "Lew… are you and Sam at the main gate?"

"Good. There's underground parking and tunnels for a planned subway under all of this. Make sure we have armed teams covering those exits," Jim ordered. "Call Casey if you need details. She can guide you through this better than anyone else. Got it? Good."

Looking back at the young officer as he pocketed his phone, he asked, "Were the guards killed or wounded?"

"One dead, one in critical condition on his way to the hospital along with a couple of construction workers that were in the vicinity of the exchange. One of them looked pretty bad to me," the officer replied.

Nodding, Brass demanded, "Do we know if he's armed with anything more than just the pistol he had earlier?"

"The guard said he saw him dragging a duffle bag behind him into the building… had a rifle… maybe an ammo belt too, but he wasn't 100% on that," the officer replied, his eyes fixed on the entry of the half-built hotel.

"OK… there's a security trailer next to the main gate that has surveillance monitors," Brass instructed. "We…"

"A couple of SWAT officers just went to check the video…"

A loud explosion rocked the ground as a fireball erupted behind them. Reaching out to steady himself on the rear tire of a huge crane, Jim turned in time to see the top of what he assumed was the security trailer crash into the open-air plaza at the heart of the _Celebration Centre _complex… perhaps 100 yards from his position. Flames leapt high into the night sky hinting that an accelerant had been used to make the resulting fire burn hotter.

"Oh, my God!" his companion murmured. "That trailer was rigged…"

"Fall back! Fall back! All personnel fall back… NOW!!!"

Brass's order echoed through the site as new voices picked up the warning. Satisfied the order was being followed, he began to trot in the direction of the security trailer's last position. Scanning the area for signs of the two SWAT officers, Brass maintained a hunched position hoping to call as little attention to himself as possible. He knew the odds were against either being alive, but he wasn't willing to let anyone die on his watch on the basis of a wrong assumption.

Spotting a broken body to his left, he slowed long enough to verify the young man was dead. A second still form was barely visible through the smoke closer to the blazing remains of the trailer. A faint movement encouraged him to keep moving in his direction.

Glancing to his left as he knelt to check for a pulse, he noted that the officer he had been talking to at the gate had followed him. Feeling a faint throb under his finger tips, he ordered, "A gently as you can, slip a hand under his left shoulder and I'll take the right. We need to move him to the other side of that dozer in case…"

A bullet impacting the ground less than two feet from them made the need to complete the sentence unnecessary. Seeing his companion quickly follow his lead, Jim steeled himself against the groan of pain movement caused their charge. "On three."

Hearing shots ring out as the SWAT snipers that had taken position around the site began to return fire, Brass repeated, "Move slowly but keep a steady pace. We'll take shelter behind that bulldozer to our right."

They had taken only three steps when two more SWAT officers appeared out of the smoke. Lifting the wounded man's legs, they fell into quick step with Brass and his shadow. A second bullet pinged as it ricocheted off the metal fender of the dozer. Shouts from behind him alerted him that the snipers had pinpointed the gunman's location… and weren't able to get a clear shot from any of their current positions.

The simultaneous lurch and grunt of pain to his left drew his gaze. One of the SWAT officers muttered, "Took a round in my back… vest caught it."

Knowing from personal experience that a high powered rifle could inflict pain even if the round was blocked by a bulletproof vest, Brass ordered, "Get it checked out before you take position… consider that an order."

Before the other man could respond, a second… then third explosion drove them to their knees. Craning his neck to see over the heads of the taller men in his company, Brass swore softly as he watched a plume of fire and smoke billow out of the front of the second casino-hotel under construction across from the _Canyon Falls_… _The Peaks_. The source of the third explosion wasn't immediately clear from his position.

Relinquishing his hold on the injured man as another officer took his place, Brass cupped his hands and shouted, "Everybody out… no exceptions. Move beyond the perimeter fence… now!"

"Are we sure it's him?"

Looking up from his study of the site plans for _Celebration Centre_, Brass offered, "Best guess is its Keyser, but… no way to be sure until we get him."

"I know, but I need to be pretty damned sure before I step out in front of the cameras and get the public revved up," Burdick responded. "The phones are ringing off the hook… the press is already circling the entire site demanding answers. If it's him…"

"Unless we've been chasing the wrong spook all afternoon… has to be," his task force commander affirmed. "The Escalade that crashed through the gate is the one stolen from the McClains… we double checked the tag. Henry Woods' trailer and rig were in the back of the boarded-up store on Western where the McClains were held. The lab matched the round recovered from the shooting at _Choozy's_ to the Beretta used in several murders we've tied to him. DNA from blood at the scene is being processed… should nail it down."

"I'll wait to hear that before I say anything, then. Last thing we need is to get this wrong," he reasoned. "Anything inside the tractor-trailer rig to help us get this bastard?"

"Too soon to know," Brass cautioned. "Sanchez and his crew are disarming a bomb strapped to the underside of the trailer so Grissom and his crew can begin to process it. They should have the site secured in under an hour based on the latest. Add it up… got to be Keyser up there."

Nodding, the Sheriff pressed, "What's the body count?"

"One of the SWAT officers that tried to enter the security trailer was killed instantly; the second is critical last I heard," he began. "We know we have one dead guard and a second hanging by a thread… several construction workers were wounded, one's critical. No word yet on who might have been inside the trailer when it blew. I'm guessing we have at least one more body to recover… maybe more if anyone inside the building got in his way. Phil Bridges, the night shift sup, is getting me a head count. The head of security services for _Tru-Blue_ is in route, so we'll know more when he gets here."

Wiping a stiff hand over the top of his head, Burdick demanded, "Any idea how much additional ordinance this bastard has rigged up around the site?"

"No way to know at this point," Brass groused. "He's worked here since they broke ground, so… I'm assuming the worst… that he has all of the buildings rigged to blow… probably has cameras, maybe even bugs scattered across the entire site. He wrote in his journal he was preparing for battle… said he wasn't going to be caught unprepared again."

"Are the fires caused by the explosions under control?"

"No… looks like he used an accelerant on the security trailer… probably to keep us from salvaging anything inside. The fire department is hampered by the need to stay out of range of his rifle. They're pumping as much water on the blaze as they can. I think they're gaining ground… there at least," Jim outlined. "The construction trailer was close enough to the southern perimeter that it's largely under control… mostly a total loss from what I could tell."

"And the other buildings?"

"_The Peaks_ hotel is burning almost uncontested at this point," the detective admitted. "LVFD is pumping water in from the back, but that's as close as I've let them come until we know if there are other explosives he hasn't detonated. None of their guys are inside the perimeter. For the most part, they're trying to contain the fire to the site… but it will spread to other buildings within the complex unless we get a handle on this fast."

"Damn!" Burdick exclaimed. "Are those the plans?"

"Yeah… not that they give us any advantage," Brass warned. "Keyser has had access to these plans for almost two years… probably knows them as well as Casey."

Fixing his incident commander with a fierce glare, the Sheriff demanded, "Is there anything you can tell me that isn't more bad news?"

"Yeah," Brass offered, "…the site is buttoned up as tight as I can get it. I have officers flooded around the perimeter and all the underground exits are guarded. No one, and I do mean no one, is allowed to leave the area. Anybody that tries will be detained until we verify their ID."

Frowning, Burdick asked, "No one?"

"Yeah, that includes both of us," Jim warned. "Keyser has a nasty habit of wearing disguises… hell, none of us know what he really looks like since he was 18. I'm not taking any chances of him walking out by pretending to be a cop or a fireman. He's been planning this slice of hell too long not to have a few tricks up his sleeve."

"I thought he was wounded…"

"I sent Sofia Curtis down to interview Dr. McClain," Brass interjected. "He sewed up the wound… Keyser had a gun pressed to Caroline McClain's belly the whole time. McClain says he's lost a lot of blood… the wound was to his right shoulder, so it's probably playing hell with his old injuries, but he's a leftie, so he can still function. Keyser may be weakened by the wound, but he's not out… not yet."

"We should be so lucky."

"I have uniforms going door-to-door in buildings ringing the site evacuating them… mandatory, no exceptions," Jim added, silently agreeing with his boss. "No way a civilian's going to be within ten blocks of the site until this entire mess is contained. And…"

"And…?"

"And, the good news is… this ends here," Brass concluded. "We have him trapped and I'll be damned if I let him escape."

Jeremy Albright stared at the burning hulk that had once been the onsite security trailer for the _Celebration Centre_ site. "What the hell have you…"

"Not our handiwork," Brass interjected, the hard tones of his voice warning the younger man the detective was in no mood to play games. "Your boy Wes did this."

Gulping hard, the supervisor of _Tru-Blue's_ security services repeated, "Wes… Wes Lewis did this?"

"Yeah, so I don't have time to waste on corporate procedures. I need answers and I need them now," Brass confirmed. "Does _Tru-Blue_ have backup feeds of the security cameras at this site?"

Still dazed, Albright slowly nodded. "Yeah… the cameras feed to the trailer and back to the main office where we back up a copy in case…"

"…something like this happens?" Brass completed. "How far do they go back?"

"Two weeks."

"Right," Jim acknowledged, frustrated they didn't go back further. "You told me Lewis helped install the surveillance equipment… handled maintenance, right?"

"Yeah… he did most of the installations personally," Albright admitted. "He volunteered for the overtime and I was shorthanded after the company laid-off…"

"We need those surveillance feeds **NOW**, routed to our command unit," Jim interjected, too irritated by the man to listen further. "Det. Vartann will go with you… make sure there aren't any more problems."

Looking over at the younger officer, he ordered, "Lew… take Mr. Albright and see if you can get us a patch to those feeds A'sap. I'll have Archie Johnson meet you at their offices."

Reaching out to grab Vartann's arm as he started to turn away, Jim fixed him with a hard stare. "I'm going to have Al Sanchez send one of his teams with you… let a dog sniff out the place before you guys go in. This bastard has wired up everything else… no point in taking a chance."

"No bombs, boss, but Johnson earned his pay for the year," Vartann reported.

Turning to let his body block some of the noise from the chaotic scene around him, Brass tucked his cell phone a little closer to his ear. "What did he find?"

"Booby-trap in the programming… set to download an overwrite program to wipe the files here at _Tru-Blue _and disable the feeds," his detective replied. "He overrode it and flushed it from the system. He's routing the feeds to the command unit now. You should be live with the cameras still working… now."

Turning to head toward the mobile command center, Brass praised, "Good work. Give Archie a big pat on the back for me… I'll do better later."

"Will do."

"How about archived tapes of the site?" Brass prompted. "Maybe we can track his movements around the site… maybe get an idea of where he might have set more bombs."

"I'll ask. Hold on…"

Brass pushed his way through the group of officers grouped in front of the Mobile Command Unit, his cell phone clamped to his ear. "Get the hell out of my way… yeah, Lew? What does Archie say?"

"He found them… will back them up on an external hard drive to take back to the lab."

"Leave a couple of uniforms sitting on the place to make sure nobody tampers with our feed… and make sure Archie gets safely back to the lab as soon as he's finished," Brass ordered. "We need him to use the photo recognition software to look for Keyser doing his 'Man of a 1000 Faces'. I want to know where he went… especially if he was wearing something other than the face of Wes Lewis. That might help us nail down his movements… maybe give us an idea of what this bastard really looks like."

"Right…"

"Hold on a second, Lew… ask Archie if he can tell if the feeds are being seen at any other location?"

"You're thinking Keyser…"

"Yeah… exactly what I'm thinking," Brass interjected. "Can Archie tell?"

"Wait… yeah, he says the feeds are still being routed to the security trailer on a separate line," Vartann reported. "Shouldn't that line have been blown along with the trailer?"

A fierce frown accompanied, "Seems like a duh moment to me, but… Keyser has this all planned out. He did the installation, so… anything is possible I guess. Ask Archie if he can isolate that line… maybe disable it?"

"Not from here," the younger detective responded. "He says he'd need to physically locate and cut the line… the connection is hardwired. Archie says the security trailer must have gotten its feed from that one, so… he could backtrack from there."

"Yeah, with a sniper looking over his shoulder," Brass growled. "Keyser opened up on us while we were moving Cooper… the SWAT officer that survived the blast. Wherever he is, he has the area covered… maybe anticipating our wanting to cut his video eyes."

"Fucking son-of-a-bitch!"

"Yeah," Jim agreed. "Get Archie back to the lab so he can get to work. Best we can do for now."

"Will do," Lew responded before ending the call.

Entering the unit, Brass walked over to the officer at the bank of monitors. "Are you getting the live feed from the site cameras?"

"Yes sir," she replied. "I've isolated the ones for the _Canyon Falls_ building. They have cameras on every floor as well as shots on the exterior. I should be able to find out where he's hiding… but it may take me a while… lots of places to hide."

Nodding, Jim ordered, "Let me know as soon as you find anything that looks promising."

"Yes sir."

Before he could say more, his cell phone rang. Irritated by the interruption, his voice sounded as hard as his name implied. "Brass."

"Do you believe in God, Lancelot? Because… if you do, you might want to start praying."

5-1-2010


	34. Chapter 34 Fire and Ice

Title: By Design, Chapter 34

Author: Sorsha_711  
Fandom/Pairing: CSI; Brass/OCF  
Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations  
Disclaimer: A quick check of my bank account should prove I'm not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh! Anything you recognize belongs to the good people that bring us CSI.  
Summary: A serial killer is stalking the streets of Vegas… hell of a time for Brass to meet the woman of his dreams.

By Design, Chapter 34 --- Fire and Ice

"_Some say the world will end in fire,  
some say in ice. _

_From what I've tasted of desire, _

_I hold with those who favor fire.  
But if it had to perish twice, _

_I think I know enough of hate _

_to say that for destruction _

_ice is also great _

_and would suffice."_

_Robert Frost_

Jim felt the blood in his veins freeze as his caller's words sank in… along with his probably identity. "From where I'm standing, looks like you're the one that needs to be doing the praying… but, you're probably right. God isn't likely to have any more sympathy for you than I do."

"I have nothing to fear… God holds no dominion over me."

Sneering, Brass retorted, "Right… you're special."

"More than you'll ever know."

A harsh chuckle preceded, "I guess I'm supposed to be honored you bothered to talk to one of the lesser beings that infest your world… or am I a fellow super man today? Need to know which suit to change into at the phone booth."

A brief pause… then, "You've… dared to read my…"

"Yeah, your version of _Travels with My Aunt_… well, with your dear old dad actually… hell of a lot more blood and psychotic ravings in your version," Jim interjected, hoping to throw the killer off balance… anger him enough to get him to make a mistake. Signaling the officer at the com panel to try to trace the call to confirm the killer was still in the half-finished _Canyon Falls_ complex, he added, "We've been passing it around down at headquarters… gave us a lot of laughs."

"That was for my eyes only!" the cold voice proclaimed. "You dared…"

"Mission… destiny… yadda yadda yadda," Brass mocked. "Same shit shoveled by countless psychos before you trying to dress depravity up as something sacred. Writing it in runes didn't make it anything more than a load…"

"How would a mere cop have the knowledge…"

"…to break your secret code? Don't you listen to you own bullshit? Hello… foe you were born to defeat… or in my version of the great epic, the hero born to kick your ass. I got wicked skills man… I thought you knew that."

"I'll squash you like a bug… you can't win," Keyser gloated. "This is my destiny!"

"Hate to spoil your delusions, but I got my own decoder ring and a club handshake to go with the cape and tights." Hoping to instill a few doubts in a madman's delusions, Jim jabbed, "Funny the voices in your head didn't mention that. Got to make a wannabe god wonder what else they forgot to tell him."

"DO **NOT** MOCK ME!!!" his caller shouted. "My mission is beyond your limited abilities to comprehend!"

"Sure. Keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better."

"I said don't mock me!"

"Poor little Sean. Does he want his mommie?" Pausing for the space of a few heartbeats, Jim went for the jugular. "Oh, that's right. She's dead. You had a front row seat for her rape and murder didn't you? I've been wondering… did your god complex begin when you avenged her with good old Rusty… or when you torched your grandfather's dead…"

"How…"

"Oh, I know all about you, Sean… hooker mom, Granny the punching bag for Gramps, the town drunk," Jim recited, "…your dad the deadbeat, washed-up boxer that never wanted anything to do with you… preferred his real son didn't he, Sean?"

"My father was a great man…"

"Yeah? Then, you must have been a big disappointment. We both know he didn't love you… didn't want anybody to know you were his son… so you killed a helpless baby and his mother to punish him. Takes a real man to kill a helpless kid… leave him to drown in a swamp," Brass taunted, hearing the surprise in the other man's voice that he knew so much about him. "Hell, we even know about your dearly departed wives… well, not really your wives. Sue and Josie… are there others we missed?"

Hearing a distinct growl on the other end of the line, Jim pressed, "Did Josie even know you existed all those months you stalked her, Sean… or do you prefer Wes… or how 'bout Rocky?"

When the killer offered nothing more than another growl, Jim continued. "Beautiful, smart woman like Josie… she looked right through you didn't she… too busy banging the judge to have time for the pathetic crispy crip everybody ignores… someone so insignificant people prefer to avoid…"

"My name was the last one she spoke… or should I say screamed," Keyser sneered, his voice shaking with barely contained fury. "The judge was just as arrogant and stupid as you…"

"Stupid? Really? Now, that's surprising. I mean, getting through law school, passing the bar, making judge… that takes smarts," Jim offered, focused on finding ways to keep the other man on the line for as long as possible. "Yeah, he had the respect of an entire city… got the pretty girl to willingly come to his bed… a beautiful woman that wouldn't give you the time of day… so you had to kidnap her to make her notice you… just like you did with Sue. Cristy… well, Cristy was just revenge for what her dad did to your mom, but Sue…"

"You seem to be overlooking the obvious," the Strangler ground out. "They're all dead. In the end, they lay broken at my feet. You and…"

"Yeah, well, that was them. I'm another kettle of fish… so's Casey."

"She will be mine. You can't stop me. I am destined…"

With supreme effort, Jim managed a dismissive snort of amusement. "Get real, Sean. You're never going to get within a mile of her…"

"Worried about your lover, Brass? You should be."

"Worried you're going to do what to her? Unless you're planning to grow a pair of bulletproof wings and fly your sorry ass off the top of that building, you're trapped like a rat on a burning ship. Hell, you made this easy on us. All we have to do is wait. The fire caused by your bombs is bound to spread… fire that's going to roast your worthless carcass to ash unless you give yourself up… you remember what fire feels like, right?"

Ice dripped from his caller's voice as he vowed, "You'll soon regret your lack of respect, Captain… but not for nearly as long as I would like. And once you're dead and Casey is kneeling submissively at my feet, I doubt it will take her long to forget you… once she's been with a real man."

"Planning on hiring a stand-in once you get 'down-under', Mr. Woods? We cancelled your reservations, by the way… not that it matters now. The only trip you'll be making is the long, final walk to the death chamber at the Nevada State Pen," Jim promised. "And, judging from the lack of semen on your last couple of victims, I'm guessing you can't get it up anymore… steroids can do that to a man."

"How dare you! I've never taken drugs… I don't need them," Steffee shouted, clearly enraged by the accusation.

"You take offense to being called a 'roider, but not a psycho killer? Why does that not surprise me?" Jim pondered, derision coloring from his voice. "Oh well, if you say you're clean, who am I to judge? I mean… if I can't trust the rantings of the latest wackjob to hit my radar, what is the world coming to, right Sean? OK, yeah… sure… you're all man."

"Let's see if you're still feeling smug when our lovely lady does her impression of Sleeping Beauty… and only her true prince can wake her," his caller taunted. "What? I didn't hear your latest witty comeback. Cat got your tongue? Not in the mood to mock me anymore, Jokerman?"

"What can I say… I was torn between which of your deluded ravings I supposed to pay attention to…"

"Pay attention to this. I gave you fire… now, I give you ice." The faint click barely audible over the noise around him alerted him that the killer had ended the call.

The dial tone echoed in his ear, the sound an odd counterpoint to the controlled chaos inside the command unit. It took several seconds for the young officer manning the central terminal to capture his attention. "Capt. Brass… sir?"

Mentally shaking off the unease that had ratcheted up several notches during the course of his conversation with a madman, Jim forced his mind to focus on the immediate situation. "Yeah? Did you get a trace on the number?"

"Yes sir," she responded, staring at him with a mixture of respect and unease. "The signal traced to the _Canyon Fall Hotel_ address. Was that…"

A voice over his right shoulder repeated the question. "You had the bastard on the phone?"

Half turning to face the Sheriff, Jim nodded. "Yeah. Trace verified it came from inside the hotel, so there's your confirmation."

"Seems… but why's he calling you now?" Burdick demanded.

Rubbing a weary hand over his face in a manner familiar to those that knew him, Brass tried again to shake off the 'someone walking on your grave' feeling that had a stranglehold on his senses. "Hell… how should I know? Maybe he's feeling trapped and is hoping for a get out of jail free card. He has to know we have him… that he's not getting away this time."

Refusing to relent, Burdick pressed, "What did the bastard say?"

Frowning, Jim offered, "Nothing too surprising… rants about his being above anything God could throw at him… took exception to my suggesting he might have abused steroids… says his mission was beyond our limited understanding. About what you'd expect from a psycho."

Trading a look with their boss, Conrad Ecklie insisted, "Nothing else… nothing that might help…"

"Sounded to me like he's gone completely off the deep end… but I never thought his trolley was on the track to begin with," Jim muttered. "I'm not sure I got anything useful other than confirmation he's still in the hotel. I was mostly focused on keeping him on the line and distracted… maybe throw him off so he'll get sloppy. It rattled him we knew so much about him,"

"Like what?"

"His name… his mother's death… his murdering his grandfather. Pissed him off royally we had the journal… so, maybe we missed something," Jim speculated. "Maybe rereading it now that we know the where and when… some of the how about his 'great battle'… maybe something pops and makes sense. I'll get Sam working with Russ… see what they can find."

"OK," Burdick agreed. "What else? You had him on the line long enough…"

Irritated, Jim interjected, "Like I said, I was focused on keeping him talking so we could trace the call… that and flipping as many of his switches as I could find."

"There's more," the Sheriff insisted. "I can see it in your face. He said something that spooked you. You've been a cop too long to be rattled by a killer no matter how vicious, so… what did he say that has you white as a sheet?"

Frowning, Jim replayed the conversation in his mind. "Most of it was what I'd have expected… except…"

"Except what?" Ecklie demanded. "

"He seemed so damned sure he could still get to Casey," Jim admitted, "… like he had something up his sleeve."

"Casey," Burdick repeated, not surprised to find the architect was once again at the center of the investigation. "What EXACTLY did he say about her?"

"He called her 'Sleeping Beauty'… boasted she'd forget me once she'd been with a real man."

"That couldn't come as much surprise," Burdick insisted. "There has to be more."

"Russ says he's obsessed with a poem… and he quoted it… sort of."

"The one you showed me… _Fire and Ice_?" his boss pressed.

"That's the one. Keyser said… he'd send ice to go with the fire…" Jim began, only to come to an abrupt halt as the source of his unease popped into clear focus.

"Ice… what the hell does that mean?"

Ignoring the question, Jim quickly entered Casey's number in his cell phone. Turning to push his way toward the door of the trailer, he shouted, "Get the hell out of my… Case! Babe, are you OK?"

His fiancé's voice failed to ease the gnawing panic building as the words of a killer echoed in his ear… _'I gave you fire… now, I give you ice.'_ He had known her too long not to recognize the tension and worry that gave her soft voice an atypical brittle quality. "Jim? Are you all right? I've been so worried!"

"Casey, where are you? Are** you** OK?" he repeated, pushing his way out the door. Seeing an opening in the crowd, Jim broke into a run toward his car.

He heard the frown that accompanied, "I'm with Archie Johnson in his lab… and, yeah, I'm fine... other than the fact the project I've worked on for the last five years is going up in smoke with you in the middle of the whole damned thing! Jim…"

"I'm fine," Jim reassured, pausing near the front of his car as he took a steadying breath, "but I need to be sure you're ok."

A weary sigh accompanied, "I'm fine. Why shouldn't I be? I have cops all around me 24/7. You're the one…"

"Casey… this isn't about me."

"If this is about my not responding to your email, my damned laptop froze before I could…"

"Froze? Your computer suddenly froze?" Jim interrupted, '…_now, I give you ice'_ thundering in his head. "Case… get the hell away from the laptop. Run and take everybody in the vicinity with you… NOW!"

"What…"

Breaking in, he ordered, "Just do it! Leave the damned laptop and get everybody as far from it as you can while I call the bomb squad. RUN!"

5-8-2010


	35. Chapter 35 Frozen

Title: By Design, Chapter 35

Author: Sorsha_711  
Fandom/Pairing: CSI; Brass/OCF  
Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations  
Disclaimer: A quick check of my bank account should prove I'm not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh! Anything you recognize belongs to the good people that bring us CSI.  
Summary: A serial killer is stalking the streets of Vegas… hell of a time for Brass to meet the woman of his dreams.

By Design, Chapter 35 --- Frozen

Hearing the word bomb was all it took to galvanize Casey to action. Jim listened helplessly as she shouted, "We need to get out of here now! Jim thinks there may be a bomb in my laptop!"

The sound of labored breathing and shouts filled his ear as he shrugged off the restraining hand Ecklie was trying to place on his arm. Whipping around to face the other man, he demanded, "Get a bomb squad to the crime lab a'sap! Keyser's done something to Casey's laptop. If he was able to get into her house… Who knows what he might have done to it. Her laptop may be rigged with a bomb or…"

Hearing Casey's panicked voice calling his name, he demanded, "Babe… are you OK? Where are you? Is the lab clear?"

"Yeah, we're down the hall… Mitch told me to wait on him while they seal off the lab and finish the sweep," she reported. "What the hell is happening, Jim?"

Ignoring her question until he was sure the lab's personnel were all safe, he demanded, "Is the AV lab clear… the adjacent labs? Damnit, Case… is everybody safe?"

Her voice wavered as she confirmed, "Mitch is getting everybody out. I think he plans to take me over to the main PD building once he has everybody accounted for."

"Tell him to make it quick… and not to let anybody near the AV lab until the bomb squad clears it."

"OK, but we need to get back…"

"Not until the bomb squad says it's safe," he interjected.

After listening as she relayed his instructions to the uniformed officer on the scene, Jim instructed, "You need to run me through what was happening just before I called… give me details."

"Well… Sam called and asked me to help him position people at all possible ways out of the site," Casey began, her voice breathy and strained.

"OK, yeah, I told him to give you a call for help in buttoning up the site… after all, nobody knows the ends and outs of the site like you," Jim supplied. "What happened next?"

"Oh… OK, that makes sense. Anyway, the plans are on my laptop, so pulled them up and walked him through it. I was kind of relieved to be able to help for a change," she acknowledged. "I've talked to him a couple of times since."

"How did you end up in the AV lab?" he questioned.

A shaky sigh preceded, "Well, everybody around here was busy, so I decided to put on a pot of stew in case anyone got hungry later. I was still in the kitchen when Archie came back from _Tru-Blue_ with the backups of the site surveillance feeds. He asked me to help him sort the images so he could narrow down possible movement of the security guard you thinks… the Strangler. I knew what I'm looking at… it was speeding things up."

"OK," Jim prompted. "What exactly happened with your laptop to cause it to freeze up?"

Pausing briefly to take a deep breath, she admitted, "It was kind of weird… like a virus or spyware had… Oh, my God! Is that…."

"Hang on, baby," Jim soothed. "Give me the details and we'll try to sort this out. It may be nothing, but I'm not taking any chances. What **exactly** happened? You mentioned something about an email…"

"Well… I was working with Archie, so I didn't immediately realize I had new mail. When I saw that I did, I checked to see who was emailing at a time like this," Casey reported. "It was from you."

"Me… an email from me?"

"Yeah… from your personal account," she supplied. "I thought it was a little weird for you to take the time with all that's happening and… oh, my God! It was from HIM?"

"Let's not get ahead of the evidence… but, that's probably a safe bet. I haven't sent you any messages today," Jim agreed, jamming a finger into his ear hoping to block out the din of the tumultuous scene surrounding him. "So… the email popped in and…"

"I'd been looking at the feeds with Archie and didn't see it pop in… I don't know how long it had been there, but when I clicked to open it…" her voice cracking as the strain of the moment robbed her of breath, "… everything went haywire… these big cartoony snow flakes and ice crystals covered the screen for a few seconds, then the blue screen of death. You know… when a computer locks up and fails… oh, God!"

"It's OK, baby… nobody's hurt, so we have time to figure out what he's up to." Jim hesitated for a moment before asking, "Did you notice if the email had a title?"

"Yeah… 'To My Sleeping Beauty'," Casey replied. "That jumped out since it sounded… pretty incongruous given… OH MY GOD! Mitch… the lab!"

"Casey! Case, what's happening?" Jim demanded, his heart skipping a beat as the sounds of shouting could clearly be heard over the open phone line.

"Jim… there's white smoke filling the AV lab," she reported, her breathing labored alerting him she was running… and afraid. "We can see it through the glass… we were down the hall in reception..."

"Get the hell out of there NOW!" Jim barked. "Tell Mitch to issue a Code Red and clear the **entire** lab building NOW! Everybody out. Get the hell out of the building and… Casey! Case can you hear…"

A dial tone buzzed in his ear.

"What the hell is going on?"

Unable to shake off his boss's grip on his arm, Brass rounded on the Sheriff. "How the hell do I know? I'm on my way…"

"No… you're not," Burdick interjected. "You're lead on the Strangler case and we have him penned down on this site. Conrad is on his way…"

Jerking his arm free, Jim growled, "If you think…"

"Consider it an order," the Sheriff barked. "If you want to make sure she's safe… not to mention every other woman that crosses this bastard's path, then do your job and make sure this nightmare ends here… tonight!"

Before he could respond, Jim's phone rang. "What…"

"I'm OK, honey," Casey's breathless voice interjected. "David Hodges grabbed my phone and made me leave it behind in case it had been tampered with too. We're out… everybody. Mitch has the AV lab sealed off and the entire building's empty."

"Where are you?" Jim demanded, gripping the door frame as his heart rate began to settle back to a more normal rhythm now that he'd heard her voice.

"Mitch is herding us all into the main PD building," she replied. "I think he plans to stash us in the conference rooms for now… or that's what Wendy said she heard him telling the other officers. Yeah, that's right. Mitch heard me and is nodding his head."

Sagging in relief, he whispered, "You're sure you're OK… everybody's OK?"

"As far as I can tell," she promised. "Mitch had already cleared reception and most of the support personnel out of the building before the… whatever it was went off. It was just the lab techs and me left… and we're all accounted for. The CSI's are all out in the field I think. I haven't seen any of them in… well, for hours. They're OK, right?"

"I haven't heard otherwise. They're stretched pretty thin processing scenes all over town," Jim replied, too drained for the moment to say more. "Case… baby, you're really OK?"

"Honey, I'm fine," she whispered, all too aware of the fact her companions were openly listening to her side of the exchange. "You saved us from whatever that… stuff is. If the Strangler is behind it… you probably saved our lives by getting us out of the room before it went off. Remind me to thank you properly when you get back to the station."

Groaning slightly, Jim asked, "How many heard that judging from the smirks or looks of horror in the vicinity?"

"Hummm…" she responded, "I'd say… everybody. They're all paying close attention since your last call saved our lives. Any future calls from you are going to receive maximum attention, so be prepared, hero."

Another groan, this one clearly audible, was his only immediate response. "If Mitch is around, let me speak to him… and I love you. I'm looking forward to finding out how you plan to say thanks… that thought may be all that gets me through the rest of this ordeal"

"I love you too, sir," Mitch Mitchell's wry voice retorted, "but… if it's all the same to you, I think I'll leave any special thank-you's to Casey."

Sighing heavily, Jim ordered, "Give me an update on the situation at the station. Do we have any idea what the white smoke was?"

"No clue, but Hazmat's on scene, so maybe they'll have answers before long. We'd already sealed off the AV lab… the air vents and door, so the smoke shouldn't have spread," the uniformed officer reported. "The lab building is clear and everyone is accounted for. I'll keep everybody in the conference rooms until you say otherwise."

"Johnson needs to get back to scanning those surveillance feeds a'sap," Brass ordered. "Get him over to the main EOC. I'll make sure he has access to one of their consoles. Casey was helping him so… you're with them."

"Will do, Capt."

"Right," Jim acknowledged. "Ecklie's on his way to take command of the scene. I'm tied up at the _Celebration_ site for the foreseeable, so keep me in the loop. I'll expect a call from you if there's anything… and I do mean anything to report."

"Understood."

"And… Mitch… she really is alright isn't she?"

"Fine… shaken up and worried about you, but fine. I'll make sure she stays that way."

Flipping his phone shut after alerting the lieutenant running the EOC to make room for the AV tech, Brass turned to face the Sheriff and his second-in-command. "The situation appears to be contained… nobody's hurt and the smoke… gas… whatever it is, was contained to the AV lab. Hopefully, Hazmat will be able to clear the rest of the lab quickly so they can get back to work. Johnson has access to the surveillance feeds from the EOC."

"I feel like I'm repeating myself, but… what the hell happened?" his boss demanded. "Do you have any idea of how…"

"In retrospect… couldn't be clearer," Jim admitted, slamming his hand against the roof of his car as his churning anger sought an outlet. "Keyser's planned all along for his 'final battle' to be here at _Celebration_, so he's had his defenses in place for months… maybe longer. We had the clues… just not enough time to put them all together."

"What are you talking about… the bombs?" Burdick prompted.

Leaning stiffly against the sedan, Brass nodded. "The bombs… the guns, the overwrite program to knock out the surveillance equipment… who knows what else. Hell, he rigged both the security and construction trailers to blow knowing they were the only other place we could access the construction plans."

"And… Casey's part in all this?"

"Remember what Ferguson translated from Keyser's journal," the detective prompted. "This final battle shit is supposed to be a showdown between him and me with Casey as the spoils of war."

"So…"

Fighting to control his anger, Brass clarified, "He knew we'd call her for site intel in setting up our containment… Casey has all the plans for _Celebration_ on her laptop. She carries that damned laptop everywhere, so he knew he could count on her to have it on… or at least have it close."

"So… he comes here and opens fire… creates a citywide Code Red," the Sheriff continued, "…then he waits for you to show up and his… final battle is guaranteed."

A faint growl accompanied, "We're been playing catch-up since day one, but he's had time to plan ahead, so… he rigs the laptop to gas her when she opens an email armed with a trigger of some type. He even uses my private address to send it to be sure she'd open it as soon as she saw it."

"How did he get his hands on it to rig it?" Burdick demanded. "If she carries it with her…"

"The security trailer."

"What?"

"I'll confirm this with her later, but… she does regular walk-thrus of the site to inspect for compliance with her construction plans… building codes," Brass speculated. "There had to have been times lugging it over girders and up ladders was too much trouble, so… where better to stash it for safe keeping than…"

"…the security trailer," the Sheriff completed. "Yeah, it is clear in retrospect."

Pausing for a second, he asked, "How the hell did he anticipate she'd be at the crime lab when it went off?"

"The where was irrelevant to him… he just needed her at the laptop when his email arrived. We've all had a computer crash on us… its human nature to focus on getting it back up and running in hopes of salvaging your work. Once she got the blue screen… shutting down the lab was pure gravy," Jim muttered.

Sighing, he added, "Only thing he hadn't counted on was the fact she was distracted when his email arrived. He was counting on her opening it immediately. She was helping Archie Johnson review the feeds and the email sat in her inbox for… who knows how long."

"So… he calls you assuming it's already too late and she's dead or dying," Burdick summarized. "He was…"

"No," Brass interjected, sorting through the details of his conversation with a madman, "… he didn't assume she was dead. He called her Sleeping Beauty. Sleeping Beauty didn't die… she was trapped in an unnatural coma-like sleep. I memorized those damned stories from reading them to my kid when she was little. "

"OK… so what are you thinking?"

"Keyser has this all planned out… he even used her Apple to try to poison her," Jim growled. "Fits with his sick sense of humor."

Frowning, Burdick asked, "Wasn't that from Snow White… or…"

"OK… so nobody read fairy tales to little Sean, so he's confused… or maybe he thinks this is romantic… who the hell knows with this sick bastard," Brass responded. "So, he calls me… he thinks it's too late for me to save her… only he miscalculated and she got out in time. Hell, being in the lab made sure whatever he used didn't spread, so nobody got hurt."

"But… he doesn't know that."

Turning to face the night shift lab supervisor, Jim bit out, "I thought I told you I didn't want you or any of your people within a mile of this place…"

Holding up his hand to halt the anger flowing in his direction, Grissom agreed. "You did… but I needed to alert you to what we found in Henry Woods' trailer. It wasn't something I wanted to risk discussing over a cell phone or police radio. It may be the key to understanding what Keyser has been planning."

5-16-2010


End file.
